LADY  JANE 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


LADY   JANE  WAS   LINGERING   ON   THE   SIDEWALK,    NEAR   THE  GREEN 

FENCE 


BY 


MRS.  C.  V.  JAMISON 

Author  of  "Toinette's  Philip" 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1921 


Copyright,  1891,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 

Copyright  renewed  1918 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

II 
III 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 


THE  BLUE  HERON    . 

TONY  GOES  WITH  LADY  JANE 

MADAME  JOZAIN       . 

AN  INTERRUPTED  JOURNEY 

LAST  DAYS  AT  GRETNA 

PEPSIE 


PAGE 

3 

19 

25 
36 
48 
56 


THE  ARRIVAL 63 

LADY  JANE  FINDS  A  FRIEND    ...  72 

THE  FIRST  VISIT  TO  PEPSIE                 .  81 

LADY  JANE  FINDS  OTHER  FRIENDS     .  91 

THE  VISIT  TO  THE  PAICHOUX  .      .     .  101 

TANTE  MODESTE'S  SUSPICIONS       .     .  109 

ONE  OF  THE  NOBILITY 117 

LADY  JANE  VISITS  THE  D'HAUTREVES  125 

LADY  JANE  FINDS  A  MUSIC-TEACHER  133 

PEPSIE  Is  JEALOUS 141 

LADY  JANE'S  DANCING-MASTER     .     .  150 

LADY  JANE'S  CHRISTMAS  PRESENTS    .  158 

MARDI-GRAS 167 

LADY  JANE  DINES  WITH  MR.  GEX      .  178 

AFTER  THE  CARNIVAL 187 


2130647 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  pAGE 

XXII  PAICHOUX  MAKES  A  PURCHASE    .     .  195 

XXIII  MADAME  JOZAIN  CALLS  UPON  MAM'- 

SELLE  DIANE 211 

XXIV  RASTE  THE  PRODIGAL 219 

XXV    THE  JEWEL-BOX 228 

XXVI    THE  FLIGHT 235 

XXVII  THE  LITTLE  STREET  SINGER    .     .     .241 

XXVIII  LADY  JANE  FINDS  SHELTER     .     .     .254 

XXIX  TANTE  MODESTE  FINDS  LADY  JANE    .  264 

XXX    AT  MRS.  LANIER'S 274 

XXXI  LADY  JANE  COMES  TO  HER  OWN   .     .  288 

XXXII    A  MERRY  CHRISTMAS 299 

XXXIII    As  IT  Is  Now     . 313 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Lady  Jane  was  lingering  on  the  sidewalk,  near  the 
green  fence Frontispiece 

TAOINQ 
PAGE 

Mr.  Gex  at  the  door  of  his  shop     .....     96 
Lady  Jane  is  presented  to  Madame  D'Hautreve  .   128 

"  Yes,  Lady  dear,  I  want  you  to  learn  to  play  on 
the  piano,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  been 
thinking  of,"  said  Pepsie 148 

She  cried  out  pitifully,  "  It 's  Lady  Jane  "  .      .     .180 
Madame  Jozain  bargains  for  her  moving  .      .      .   236 

Lady  Jane,  clinging  to  the  railing,  looked  and 

looked 256 

"  Oh,  oh !    It 's  Tony  1 "  cried  Lady  Jane  .     .     .  300 


LADY  JANE 


LADY  JANE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   BLUE   HERON 

IT  was  in  the  beautiful  Teche  country,  on  a  pas- 
senger train  of  the  Louisiana  and  Texas  Rail- 
road, that  "  Lady  Jane  "  first  saw  a  blue  heron. 

The  month  was  July,  the  weather  was  intensely 
hot,  and  the  dusty,  ill-ventilated  car  was  closely 
packed  with  a  motley  crowd.  Among  the  travelers 
were  Texas  ranchmen,  cattle  dealers  from  the  Ope- 
lousas,  Cajan  farmers  from  the  Attakapas,  nuns, 
priests,  itinerant  merchants,  tired,  dusty  women, 
dressed  in  cotton  gowns  and  sun-bonnets,  and  bare- 
footed, white-headed  children,  very  noisy  and  rest- 
less, wandering  constantly  back  and  forth  between 
the  water-tank  and  their  lunch-baskets,  eating  cold 
chicken  or  munching  stale  biscuit.  The  ranchmen 
and  cattle  dealers  talked  in  loud,  good-natured 
voices;  the  nuns  bent  over  their  prayer-books;  the 

3 


4  LADY  JANE 

priests  yawned  and  nodded ;  the  merchants  displayed 
their  wares ;  the  children  fretted ;  the  babies  cried, 
while  the  weary  mothers  patted,  tossed,  and  coaxed 
them  with  untiring  love  and  patience;  and  the  train 
flew  on,  with  its  hot,  dusty  passengers,  over  as  beau- 
tiful a  country  as  ever  was  seen,  through  level 
stretches  of  sugar-cane  and  rice,  crossed  by  narrow 
bayous  .that  intersected  the  green  plane,  catching 
here  and  there  gleams  of  sunlight,  like  silver  threads, 
through  the  dark  cypress  swamps,  whose  bleached 
trees  were  crowned  with  hoary  moss,  while  the 
trunks  were  clothed  in  living  green,  and  festooned 
with  the  lovely  blossoms  of  the  jasmine,  and  wild 
passion-flowers  entwined  with  masses  of  delicate 
vines,  twisted  together  in  cords  and  loops  of  luxuri- 
ant verdure,  that  clambered  upward  from  the  dank 
soil  toward  the  sunlight  and  the  blue  sky.  In  places 
the  track  seemed  to  run  over  beds  of  glossy  latanea 
and  swaying  swamp-grasses,  where  glistened  little 
shallow  pools  covered  with  lily-pads  and  white  fra- 
grant blossoms. 

In  spite  of  the  intense  heat,  the  day  was  beautiful. 
Great  banks  of  white  clouds  drifted  across  the  sun, 
softening  its  ruddy  glare,  and  throwing  fantastic 
shadows  over  the  floating  prairies  and  purple  is- 


LADY  JANE  5 

lands  of  cypress  that  dotted  the  broad  yellow  ex- 
panse. Now  and  then,  a  flock  of  birds,  startled  by 
the  rush  of  the  train,  rose  up  with  a  shrill  cry  and 
noisy  whirr  of  wings,  and  soared  away  in  a  long, 
trailing  line  toward  the  lazy  drifting  clouds. 

Of  all  the  passengers,  there  were,  perhaps,  none 
who  noticed  or  cared  for  the  strange  and  beautiful 
scenery,  that  constantly  changed  as  the  train  sped 
on,  except  the  quiet  occupants  of  one  seat,  who  were 
so  unlike  those  around  them  as  to  attract  no  little  at- 
tention and  curiosity.  They  were  a  woman  and  a 
child;  the  lady,  young,  elegant,  and  pretty,  was 
dressed  in  deep  mourning;  the  little  girl,  who  was 
about  five  years  of  age,  wore  a  white  cambric  frock, 
plain,  but  exquisitely  fine,  a  wide  straw  hat,  and  long 
black-silk  stockings,  and  her  neat  shoes  were  tied 
with  tiny  bows.  Her  skin  was  delicately  fair  and 
rosy,  her  eyes  of  purple-blue  were  shaded  by  long 
dark  lashes,  and  her  hair,  of  a  pure  golden  yellow, 
hung  in  a  thick,  wavy  mass  down  to  the  loops  of  her 
black  sash.  She  was  a  dainty,  delicate  little  crea- 
ture, and,  although  very  warm  and  very  tired,  wa.c 
evidently  too  well-bred  to  annoy  others  with  rest 
lessness  or  impatience,  but  remained  quietly  kneel- 
ing on  the  seat,  at  the  window  of  the  car,  her  bright 


6  LADY  JANE 

eyes  fixed  on  the  beautiful  landscape,  as  the  train 
rushed  along. 

The  mother  had  thrown  back  her  heavy  crape  veil, 
and  a  little  ripple  of  hair  as  yellow  as  the  child's 
showed  beneath  the  widow's  cap.  She  looked  very 
weary  and  ill ;  her  eyes  were  heavy  and  swollen  with 
weeping;  her  face,  thin  and  worn  in  spite  of  her 
youth,  was  flushed  with  fever,  and  her  lips  were 
parched  and  drawn  as  if  she  suffered  intense  pain. 
At  times,  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and 
closed  her  eyes ;  then,  she  would  start  suddenly  and 
look  about  her,  with  a  glance  of  apprehension,  and 
her  clasp  would  tighten  around  the  child  at  her  side, 
as  if  she  feared  to  lose  her  hold  of  her  even  for  a 
moment;  and,  now  and  then,  the  little  girl  would 
lean  back  her  rosy  face,  and  press  it  to  her  mother's 
flushed  cheek,  -saying  softly : 

"  Does  your  dear  head  ache,  now,  mama?  " 

"  A  little,  darling,"  the  mother  would  answer,  as 
she  smoothed  the  golden  hair  that  fell  over  her  black 
gown. 

Then  the  child  would  turn  back  to  the  window  to 
watch  the  flight  of  birds,  the  purple  islands  of  cy- 
press, and  the  shadows  sailing  over  the  billowy 
grasses  of  the  floating  prairies.  And  so  the  train 


LADY  JANE  7 

sped  on  and  on,  and  the  morning  was  verging  to 
noon,  when  suddenly  she  turned,  with  eyes  full  of 
delight,  and  said  to  her  mother,  whose  head  had 
drooped  into  her  open  palms : 

"  Look,  mama !  Oh,  look  at  the  lovely  river ! 
See  what  big  trees,  and  pretty  houses,  and  there  is  a 
big  boat  coming,  and  lots  and  lots  of  lambs  are  play- 
ing in  the  field.  Oh,  I  wish  we  could  stop  here,  and 
walk  about v a  little!  Can't  we,  mama?" 

"No,  my  dear;  there's  no  time  to  get  off,"  re- 
plied the  mother,  raising  her  hand  and  looking  out 
wearily.  "  Be  patient,  darling;  we  shall  soon  be  in 
New  Orleans,  and  there  you  shall  have  everything 
you  wish." 

The  train  had  stopped  at  a  small  station  on  the 
Teche  to  take  on  a  passenger,  who  entered  with  a 
brisk  step,  and  slipped  into  a  seat  just  vacated  oppo- 
site the  mother  and  child.  He  was  a  handsome  lad 
of  about  sixteen  years.  His  merry  brown  eyes 
looked  out  frankly  from  under  his  dark  brows;  he 
had  a  pleasant  smile,  and  the  manly,  self-reliant  air 
of  one  accustomed  to  travel  alone. 

In  one  hand  he  carried  a  traveling-bag,  and  in  the 
other  a  small  basket,  over  which  a  piece  of  thin  cloth 
was  tightly  tied.  He  sat  down,  glancing  around 


8  LADY  JANE 

him  with  a  bright  smile,  and  placing  the  basket  be- 
side him,  tapped  on  the  thin  cover  with  his  forefin- 
ger, and  chirruped  merrily  to  the  occupant.  Pres- 
ently an  answering  "  Peep  —  peep !  "  came  from  the 
depths  of  the  basket,  at  which  he  laughed  heartily. 

From  the  first  moment  that  the  new  passenger 
entered  the  car,  the  little  yellow  head  of  the  child  was 
turned  in  his  direction,  and  the  deep  blue  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him  with  an  expression  of  serious  interest. 

When  he  laughed  so  merrily,  her  lips  trembled  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  overcome  with  some 
emotion  that  she  vainly  tried  to  suppress,  she  buried 
her  face  on  her  mother's  shoulder  and  whispered 
brokenly : 

"  Oh,  mama,  mama,  he  laughs  as  papa  used  to." 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  darling !  "  said  the  mother, 
bending  an  agonized-  face  over  the  child,  while  she 
soothed  her  gently ;  "  Don't  cry,  my  love,  don't  cry, 
or  I  shall  be  ill  again." 

In  an  instant  the  little  head  was  raised  resolutely, 
and  the  child  smiled  with  the  tears  glistening  on  her 
lashes,  while  her  eyes  turned  again  toward  the  stran- 
ger, who  seemed  to  attract  her  greatly. 

The  boy  had  noticed  the  lovely  little  creature  and 


LADY  JANE  9 

the  sorrowful  young  mother,  and  his  generous  heart 
went  out  to  them  at  once ;  therefore,  when  the  child 
raised  her  tearful  eyes  and  looked  at  him  so  ear- 
nestly, he  smiled  responsively  and-  invitingly. 

Again  the  little  head  went  shyly  doWn  to  the  moth- 
er's shoulder,  and  she  whispered: 

"  Mama,  there  's  something  alive,  in  .that  basket. 
How  I  wish  I  could  see  it !  " 

"  My  dear,  he 's  a  stranger.  I  can't  ask  him  to 
show  it  to  you;  he  might  not  be  willing." 

"  Oh,  I  think  he  would,  mama!  He  smiled  at  me 
when  I  looked  at  him.  Can't  /  ask  him  ?  Please, — 
please  let  me." 

The  mother  turned  a  side  glance  in  the  direction 
of  the  boy,  who  moved  a  little  nearer  the  end  of  the 
seat  and  looked  at  her  intelligently,  as  if  he  under- 
stood that  they  were  speaking  of  him.  Their  eyes 
met,  and  he  smiled  good-naturedly,  while  he  nodded 
and  pointed  to  the  basket.  "  I  thought  she  would 
like  to  see  it,"  he  said,  as  he  began  untying  the  string 
that  fastened  the  cover. 

"  You  're  very  kind  to  gratify  her  curiosity,"  said 
the  mother,  in  a  gentle  voice ;  "  she  's  sure  that  it 's 
something  alive." 


io  LADY  JANE 

"  It  is,"  laughed  the  boy.  "  It 's  very  much  alive; 
so  much  so  that  I  'm  almost  afraid  to  take  off  the 
cover." 

"  Go,  my  darling,  and  see  what  it  is,"  said  the 
mother,  as  the  child  slipp'ed  past  her  and  stood  before 
the  boy,  looking  at  him  from  under  the  shadow  o-f 
her  black  hat  with  eager,  inquiring  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  you  've  ever  seen  anything  like  him 
before.  They  're  not  common,  and  he  's  a  funny  lit- 
tle beggar.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  him  when  I 
saw  you  looking  at  the  basket.  He  's  very  tame,  but 
we  must  be  careful  he  does  n't  get  out.  With  all 
these  windows  open,  he  'd  be  gone  before  we"  knew  it. 
Now  I  '11  lift  the  cover  and  hold  my  hand  so  that 
you  can  peep  in." 

The  child's  head  was  bent  over  the  basket,  intense 
curiosity  in  her  wide  eyes,  and  a  little,  anxious  smile 
on  her  parted  lips.  "Oh,  oh,  how  pretty!  What 
is  it?  "  she  asked,  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  strange- 
looking  bird,  with  a  very  long  bill  and  little,  bright 
eyes,  huddled  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  basket.  "  I 
never  saw  one  like  it.  What  is  it?"  she  repeated, 
her  sparkling  eyes  full  of  delight  and  surprise. 

"  It 's  a  blue  heron,  and  they  're  very  rare  about 
here." 


'<  TU-.  » 


LADY  JANE  11 

He  's  not  blue  —  not  very  blue ;.  but  he  's  pretty. 
I  wish  I  could  just  touch  his  feathers." 

"  You  can.  You  can  put  your  hand  in  the  basket ; 
he  won't  bite." 

"  I  'm  not  afraid,"  she  said  with  confidence,  as  she 
stroked  the  soft  feathers. 

"If  these  windows  were  closed  I  'd  take  him  out, 
and  let  you  see  him  walk.  He  's  very  funny  when 
he  walks ;  and  he 's  so  intelligent.  Why,  he  conies 
to  me  when  I  call  him." 

"  What  do  you  call  him  ?     What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  call  him  Tony,  because  when  he  was  very  small 
he  made  a  noise  like  '  tone  —  tone.' ' 

"Tony,"  she  repeated,  "that's  a  pretty  name; 
and  it 's  a  funny  one  too,"  she  added,  dimpling  with, 
smiles. 

"  Now,  won't  you  tell  me  your  name?  "  asked  the 
boy.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,  but  I  'd  like  to  know 
your  name." 

"  Why,  yes,  I  '11  tell  you,"  she  replied,  with  charm- 
ing frankness ;  "  I  'm  called  '  Lady  Jane.' ' 

"  Lady  Jane !  "  repeated  the  boy ;  "  why,  that 's  a 
very  odd  name." 

"  Papa  always  called  me  Lady  Jane,  and  now 
every  one  does." 


12  LADY  JANE 

The  mother  looked  at  the  child  sadly,  while  tears 
dimmed  her  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  the  little  fellow, 
too,"  said  the  boy,  rising  and  holding  the  basket  so 
that  the  lady  could  look  into  it.  "  White  herons  are 
very  common  about  here,  but  blue  herons  are  some- 
thing of  a  curiosity." 

"  Thank  you.  It  is  indeed  very  .odd.  Did  you 
find  it  yourself?  "  she  asked  with  some  show  of  in- 
terest. 

"  Yes,  I  came  upon  it  quite  unexpectedly.  I  was 
hunting  orr  my  uncle's  plantation,  just  beyond  the 
station  where  I  got  on.  It  was  almost  dark ;  and  I 
was  getting  out  of  the  swamp  as  fast  as  I  could, 
when  right  under  my  feet  I  heard  '  tone  —  tone,-' 
and  there  was  this  little  beggar,  so  young  that  he 
could  n't  fly,  looking  up  at  me  with  his  bright  eyes. 
I  took  him  home  and  tamed  him,  and  now  he  knows 
my  voice  the  moment  I  speak.  He  's  very  amus- 
ing." 

The  boy  was  standing,  resting  the  basket  on  the 
arm  of  the  seat,  and  the  child  was  caressing  the  bird 
with  both  dimpled  hands. 

"  She  likes  him  very  much,"  he  said,  smiling 
brightly. 


LADY  JANE  13 

:<  Yes,  she  is  very  fond  of  pets;  she  has  left  hers 
behind,  and  she  misses  them,"  and  again  the  mother's 
eyes  filled. 

"  I  wish, —  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  give  her  Tony  — 
if  —  if  you  'd  like  her  to  have  him." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  No,  no,  I  could  n't  allow  you 
to  deprive  yourself." 

"  I  should  be  very  willing,  I  assure  you.  I  must 
give  him  away.  I  'm  going  to  give  him  to  some  one 
when  I  get  to  the  city.  I  can't  take  him  to  college 
with  me,  and  there  's  no  one  in  particular  I  care  to 
give  him  to.  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  give  him  to  this 
little  lady,"  urged  the  handsome  fellow,  smiling  into 
the  child's  upturned  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  mama, —  dear,  sweet  mama,  let  me  have 
him ;  do,  do  let  me  have  him !  "  cried  Lady  Jane, 
clasping  her  dimpled  hands  in  entreaty. 

"  My  dear,  it  would  be  so  selfish  to  take  it.  You 
m-ust  not,  indeed  you  must  not,"  said  the  mother, 
looking  from  the  child  to  the  boy  in  great  perplexity. 

"Rut  if  I  wish  it — -it  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
me,"  insisted  the  boy,  flushing  with  eager  generosity. 

"  Well,  I  '11  think  of  it.  You  are  really  very 
kind,"  she  replied  wearily.  "  We  still  have  some 
hours  to  decide  about  it.  I  find  it  very  hard  to  re- 


14  LADY  JANE 

fuse  the  child,  especially  when  you  are  so  generous, 
but  I  think  she  ought  not  to  take  it." 

The  boy  took  the  basket  with  a  disappointed  air, 
and  turned  toward  the  seat  opposite.  "  I  hope 
you  '11  decide  to  let  her  have  it,"  he  said  respectfully. 

"  Mama,"  whispered  Lady  Jane,  with  her  face 
pressed  close  to  her  mother's,  "  if  you  can,  if  you 
thing  it 's  right,  please  let  me  have  the  blue  heron. 
You  know,  I  had  to  leave  my  kitten,  and  Carla,  and 
the  lambs,  and  —  and  —  I  'm  so  sof ry,  and  —  I  'm 
lonesome,  mama." 

"  My  darling,  my  darling, —  rf  you  want  the  bird 
so  much,  I  '11  try  to  let  you  have  him.  I  '11  think 
about  it." 

"  And,  mama,  may  I  go  and  sit  by  the  basket  and 
put  my  hand  on  his  feathers  ?  " 

"  Let  her  come  and  sit  with  me,"  said  the  boy ; 
"  she  seems  tired,,  and  I  may  be  able  to  amuse  her." 

"  Thank  you.  Yes,  she  is  very  tired.  We  have 
come  a  long  way, —  from  San  Antonio, —  and  she  's 
been  very  good  and  patient." 

The  boy  made  room  for  his  charming  little  com- 
panion next  the  window,  and  after  lowering  the 
blind,  so  that  the  bird  could  not  escape,  he  took  the 


LADY  JANE  15 

pet  from  the  basket,  and  placed  him  in  Lady  Jane's 
arms. 

"  See  here,"  he  said,  "  I  've  sewed  this  band  of 
leather  around  his  leg,  and  you  can  fasten  a  strong 
string  to  it.  If  your  mama  allows  you  to  have  him, 
you  can  always  tie  him  to  something  when  you  go 
out,  and  leave  him  alone,  and  he  will  be  there  quite 
safe  when  you  come  back." 

"  I  should  never  leave  him  alone.  I  should  keep 
him  with  me  always,"  said  the  child. 

"  But,  if  you  should  lose  him,"  continued  the  boy, 
spreading  one  of  the  pretty  wings  over  Lady  Jane's 
plump  little  arm,  "  I  '11  tell  you  how  you  can  always 
know  him.  He  's  marked.  It 's  as  good  as  a  brand. 
See  those  three  black  crosses  on  his  wing  feathers. 
As  he  grows  larger  they  will  grow  too,  and  no  mat- 
ter how  long  a  time  should  pass  without  your  seeing 
him,  you  'd  always  know  him  by  these  three  little 
crosses." 

"If  mama  says  I  can  have  him,  I  can  take  him 
with  me,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  this  basket  is  very  light.  You  can 
carry  it  yourself." 

"  You   know,""  she   whispered,   glancing   at   her 


1 6  LADY  JANE 

mother,  who  had  leaned  her  head  on  the  back  of  the 
seat  in  front  of  her,  and  appeared  to  be  sleeping, 
"  I  want  to  see  Carlo  and  kitty,  and  the  ranch,  and 
all  the  lambs ;  but  I  must  n't  let  mama  know,  because 
it  '11  make  her  cry." 

"•You  're  a  good  little  girl  to  think  o-f  your 
mother,"  said  the  boy,  who  was  anxious  to  cultivate 
her  confidence,  but  too  well-bred  to  question  her. 

"  She  has  no  one  now  but  me  to  love  her,"  she 
continued,  lowering  her  voice.  "  They  took  papa 
from  us,  and  carried  him  away,  and  mama  says  he  '11 
never  come  back.  He  's  not  gone  to  San  Antonio, 
he's  gone  to  heaven;  and  we  can't  go  there  now. 
We  're  going  to  New  York ;  but  I  'd  rather  go  to 
heaven  where  papa  is,  only  mama  says  there  are  no 
trains  or  ships  to  take  us  there,  now,  but  by-and-by 
we  're  going  if  we  're  very  good." 

The  boy  listened  to  her  innocent  prattle  with  a  sad 
smile,  glancing  uneasily  now  and  then  at  the  mother, 
fearful  lest  the  plaintive  .little  voice  might  reach  her 
ear ;  but  she  seemect  to  be  sleeping,  sleeping  uneasily, 
and  with  that  hot  flush  still  burning  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  New  York?  "  he  asked, 
looking  tenderly  at  the  little  head  nestled  against  his 
arm.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  was'  very  com- 


LADY  JANE  17 

fortably  curled  up  on  the  seat  with  Tony  in  her  lap. 
The  bird  also  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  po- 
sition. 

"  Oh,  no;  I  Ve  never  been  anywhere  only  on  the 
ranch.  That 's  where  Carlo,  and  kitty,  and  the 
lambs  were,  and  my  pony,  Sunflower" ;  he  was  named 
Sunflower,  because  he  was  yellow.  I  used  to  ride 
on  him,  and  papa  lifted  me  on,  and  took  me  off;  and 
Sunflower  was  so.  gentle.  Dear  papa  —  I  —  loved 
him  best  of  all  and  now  he  's  gone  away,  and  I  can't 
see  him  again." 

Here  the  rosy  little  face  was  buried  in  Tony's 
feathers,  and  something  like  a  sob  made  the  listener's 
heart  ache. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  must  n't  cry, 
or  I  shall  think  you  don't  care  for  the  blue  heron." 

In  a  moment,  her  little  head  was  raised,  and  a 
smile  shone  through  her  tears.  "  Oh,  I  do,  I  do. 
And  if  I  can  have  him  I  won't  cry  for  the  others." 

"  I  'm  quite  sure  your  mama  will  consent.  Now, 
let  me  tell  you  about  my  home.  I  live  in  New  Or- 
leans, and  I  have  lots  of  pets,"  and  the  boy  went  on 
to  describe  so  many  delightful  things  that  the  child 
forgot  her  grief  in  listening;  and  soon,  very  soon 
the  weary  little  head  drooped,  and  she  was  sleeping 


1 8  LADY  JANE 

with  her  rosy  cheek  pressed  against  his  shoulder,  and 
Tony  clasped  close  in  her  arms. 

And  so  the  long,  hot  afternoon  passed  away,  and 
the  train  sped  on  toward  its  destination,  while  the 
mother  and  the  child  slept,  happily  unconscious  of 
the  strange  fate  that  awaited  them  in  that  city,  of 
which  the  spires  and  walls  were  even  now  visible, 
bathed  in  the  red  light  of  the  evening  sun. 


CHAPTER  II 

TONY   GOES   WITH    LADY   JANE 

AND  now  that  the  end  of  the  journey  was  so 
near,  the  drowsy  passengers  began  to  bestir 
themselves.  In  order  to  look  a  little  more  present- 
able, dusty  faces  and  hands  were  hastily  wiped, 
frowsy  heads  were  smoothed,  tumbled  hats  and  bon- 
nets were  arranged,  and  even  the  fretful  babies, 
pulled  and  coaxed  into  shape,  looked  less  miserable 
in  their  soiled  garments,  while  their  mothers  wore  an 
expression  of  mingled  relief  and  expectation. 

Lady  Jane  did  not  open  her  eyes  until  her  com- 
panion gently  tried  to  disengage  Tony  from  her  clasp 
in  order  to  consign  him  to  his  basket ;  then  she  looked 
up  with  a  smile  of  surprise  at  her  mother,  who  was 
bending  over  her.  "  Why,  mama,"  she  said 
brightly,  "  I  've  been  asleep,  and  I  had  such  a  lovely 
dream;  I  thought  I  was  at  the  ranch,  and  the  blue 
heron  was  there  too.  Oh,  I'm  sorry  it  was  only  a 
dream!" 

19 


20  LADY  JANE 

"  My  dear,  you  must  thank  this  kind  young  gen- 
tleman for  his  care  of  you.  We  are  near  New  Or- 
leans now,  and  the  bird  must  go  to  his  basket. 
Come,  let  me  smooth  your  hair  and  put  on  your 
hat." 

"  But,  mama,  am  I  to  have  Tony  ?  " 

The  boy  was  tying  the  cover  over  the  basket,  'and, 
at  the  child's  question,  he  looked  at  the  mother  en- 
treatingly.  "  It  will  amuse  her,"  he  said,  "  and  it  '11 
be  no  trouble.  May  she  have  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  must  consent ;  she  has  set  her  heart 
on  it." 

The  boy  held  out  the  little  basket,  and  Lady  Jane 
grasped  it  rapturously. 

"Oh,  how  good  you  are!"  she  cried.  "I'll 
never,  never  forget  you,  and  I  '11  love  Tony  always." 

At  that  moment  the  young  fellow,  although  he 
was  smiling  brightly,  was  smothering  a  pang  of  re- 
gret, not  at  parting  with  the  blue  heron,  which  he 
really  prized,  but  -because  his  heart  had  gone  out  to 
the  charming  child,  and  she  was  about  to  leave  him, 
without  any  certainty  of  their  ever  meeting  again. 
While  this  thought  was  vaguely  passing  through  his 
mind,  the  lady  turned  and  said  to  him : 


LADY  JANE  21 

"  I  am  going  to  Jackson  Street,  which  I  believe 
is  uptown.  Is  there  not  a  nearer  station  for  that 
part  of  the  city,  than  the  lower  one?  " 

"  Certainly,  you  can  stop  at  Gretna ;  the  train  will 

be  there  in  a  few  minutes.     You  cross  the  river 

/ 

there,  and  the  ferry-landing  is  at  the  foot  of  Jackson 
Street,  where  you  will  find  carriages  and  horse-cars 
to  take  you  where  you  wish  to  go,  and  you  will  save 
an  hour." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  of  that;  my  friends  are  not  ex- 
pecting me,  and  I  should  like  to  reach  them  before 
dark.  Is  it  far  to  the  ferry  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  blocks ;  you  '11  have  no  trouble  find- 
ing it,"  and  he  was  about  to  add,  "  Can't  I  go  with 
you  and  show  you  the  way  ?  "  when  the  conductor 
flung  open  the  door  and  bawled,  "  Grate-na !  Grate- 
na !  passengers  for  Grate-na !  " 

Before  he  could  give  expression  to  the  request,  the 
conductor  had  seized  the  lady's  satchel,  and  was  hur- 
rying them  toward  the  door.  When  he  reached  the 
platform,  the  train  had  stopped,  and  they  had  already 
stepped  off.  For  a  moment,  he  saw  them  standing 
on  the  dusty  road,  the  river  and  the  setting  sun  be- 
hind them  —  the  black-robed,  graceful  figure  of  the 


22  LADY  JANE 

woman,  and  the  fair-haired  child  with  her  violet  eyes 
raised  to  his,  while  she  clasped  the  little  basket  and 
smiled. 

He  touched  his  hat  and  waved  his  hand  in  fare- 
well ;  the  mother  lifted  her  veil  and  sent  him  a  sad 
good-by  smile,  and  the  child  pressed  her  rosy  fingers 
to  her  lips,  and  gracefully  and  gravely  threw  him  a 
kiss.  Then  the  train  moved  on ;  and  the  last  he  saw 
of  them,  they  were  walking  hand  in  hand  toward  the 
river. 

As  the  boy  went  back  to  his  seat,  he  was  reproach- 
ing himself  for  his  neglect  and  stupidity.  "  Why 
didn't  I  find  out  her  name?  —  or  the  name  of  the 
people  to  whom  she  was  going  ?  —  or  why  did  n't  I 
go  with  her?  It  was  too  bad  to  leave  her  to  cross 
alone,  and  she  a  stranger  and  looking  so  ill.  She 
seemed  hardly  able  to  walk  and  carry  her  bag.  I 
don't  see  how  I  could  have  been  so  stupid.  It 
would  n't  have  been  much  out  of  my  way,  and,  if 
I  'd  crossed  with  them,  I  should  have  found  out  who 
they  were.  I  did  n't  want  to  seem  too  presuming, 
and  especially  after  I  gave  the  child  the  heron ;  but  I 
wioh  I  'd  gone  with  them.  Oh,  she  's  left  some- 
thing," and  in  an  instant  he  was  reaching  under  the 


LADY  JANE  23 

seat  lately  occupied  by  the  object  of  his  solicitude. 

"  It 's  a  book,  '  Daily  Devotions,'  bound  in  russia, 
silver  clasp,  monogram  '  J.  C.,'  "  he  said,  as  he 
opened  it;  "  and  here  's  a  name." 

On  the  fly-leaf  was  written 

JANE  CHETWYND. 
From  Papa, 

NEW  YORK,  Christmas,  18 — . 

"  '  Jane  Chetwynd,'  that  must  be  the  mother.  It 
can't  be  the  child,  because  the  date  is  ten  years  ago. 
'New  York.'  They're  from  the  North  then;  I 
thought  they  were.  Hello !  here  's  a  photograph." 

It  was  a  group,  a  family  group  —  the  father,  the 
mother,  and  the  child;  the  father's  a  bright,  hand- 
some, almost  boyish  face,  the  mother's  not  pale  and 
tear-stained,  but  fresh  and  winsome,  with  smiling 
lips  and  merry  eyes,  and  the  child,  the  little  "  Lady 
Jane,"  clinging  to  her  father's  neck,  two  years 
younger,  perhaps,  but  the  same  lovely,  golden-haired 
child. 

The  boy's  heart  bounded  with  pleasure  as  he 
looked  at  the  sweet  little  face  that  had  such  a  fascina- 
tion for  him. 

"  I  wish  I  could  keep  it,"  he  thought,  "  but  it 's 


24  LADY  JANE 

not  mine,  and  I  must  try  to  return  to  it  the  owner. 
Poor  woman !  she  will  be  miserable  when  she  misses 
it.  I  '11  advertise  it  to-morrow,  and  through  it  I  'm 
likely  to  find  out  all  about  them." 

Next  morning  some  of  the  readers  of  the  principal 
New  Orleans  journals  noticed  an  odd  little  adver- 
tisement among  the  personals : 

Found,  "  Daily  Devotions  " ;  bound  in  red  russia-leather, 
silver  clasp,  with  monogram,  "  J.  C."  Address, 

BLUE  HERON,  P.  O.  Box  1121. 

For  more  than  a  week  this  advertisement  re- 
mained in  the  columns  of  the  paper,  but  it  was  never 
answered,  nor  was  the  book  ever  claimed. 


CHAPTER  III 

MADAME   JOZAIN 

MADAME  JOZAIN  was  a  Creole  of  mixed 
French  and  Spanish  ancestry.  She  was  a 
tall,  thin  woman  with  great,  soft  black  eyes,  a  nose 
of  the  hawk  type,  and  lips  that  made  a  narrow  line 
when  closed.  In  spite  of  her  forbidding  features, 
the  upper  part  of  her  face  was  rather  pleasing,  her 
mild  eyes  had  a  gently  appealing  expression  when 
she  lifted  them  upward,  as  she  often  did,  and  no  one 
would  have  believed  that  the  owner  of  those  inno- 
cent, candid  eyes  could  have  a  sordid,  avaricious  na- 
ture, unless  he  glanced  at  the  lower  part  of  her  face, 
which  was  decidedly  mean  and  disagreeable.  Her 
nose  and  mouth  had  a  wily  and  ensnaring  expression, 
which  was  at  the  same  time  cruel  and  rapacious. 
Her  friends,  and  she  had  but  few,  endowed  her  with 
many  good  qualities,  while  her  enemies,  and  they 
were  numerotfs,  declared  that  she  was  but  little  bet- 
ter than  a  fiend  incarnate;  but  Father  Ducros,  her 

25 


26  LADY  JANE 

confessor,  knew  that  she  was  a  combination  of  good 
and  evil,  the  evil  largely  predominating. 

With  this  strange  and  complex  character,  she  had 
but  two  passions  in  life.  One  was  for  her  worth- 
less son,  Adraste,  and  the  other  was  a  keen  desire  for 
the  good  opinion  of  those  who  knew  her.  She  al- 
ways wished  to  be  considered  something  that  she  was 
not, —  young,  handsome,  amiable,  pious,  and  the  best 
blanchisseuse  de  fin  in  whatever  neighborhood  she 
hung  out  her  sign. 

And  perhaps  it  is  -not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  she 
felt  a  desire  to  compensate  herself  by  duplicity  for 
what  fate  had  honestly  deprived  her  of,  for  no  one 
living  had  greater  cause  to  complain  of  a  cruel  des- 
tiny than  had  Madame  Jozain.  Early  in  life  she 
had  great  expectations.  An  only  child  of  a  well-to- 
do  baker,  -she  inherited  quite  a  little  fortune,  and 
when  she  married  the  debonnair  and  handsome  An- 
dre Jozain,  she  intended,  by  virtue  of  his  renown  and 
her  competency,  to  live  like  a  lady.  He  was  a  -poli- 
tician, and  a  power  in  his  ward,  which  might  even- 
tually have  led  him  to  .some  prominence;  but  in- 
stead, this  same  agency  had  conducted  him,  by  dark 
and  devious  ways,  to  life-long  detention  in  the  peni- 
tentiary of  his  State  —  not,  however,  until  he  had 


LADY  JANE  27 

squandered  her  fortune,  and  lamed  her  for  life  by 
pushing  her  down-stairs  in  a  quarrel.  This  acci- 
dent, had  it  disabled  her  arms,  might  have  incapaci- 
tated her  from  becoming  a  blanchisseuse  de  fin, 
which  occupation  she  was  obliged  to  adopt  when  she 
found  herself  deprived  of  her  husband's  support  by 
the  too  exacting  laws  of  his  country. 

In  her  times  of  despondency  it  was  not  her  hus- 
band's disgrace,  her  poverty,  her  lameness,  her  un- 
dutiful  son,  her  lost  illusions,  over  which  she 
mourned,  as  much  as  it  was  the  utter  futility  of  try- 
ing to  make  things  seem  better  than  they  were.  In 
spite  of  all  her  painting,  and  varnishing,  and  idealiz- 
ing, the  truth  remained  horribly  apparent:  She  was 
the  wife  of  a  convict,  she  was  plain,  and  old,  and 
lame ;  she  was  poor,  miserably  poor,  and  she  was  but 
an  indifferent  blanchisseuse  de  fin,  while  Adraste,  or 
Raste,  as  he  was  always  called,  was  the*  worst  boy 
in  the  State.  If  she  had  ever  studied  the  interesting 
subject  of  heredity,  she  would  have  found  in  Raste 
the  strongest  confirmation  in  its  favor,  for  he  had  in- 
herited all  his  father's  bad  qualities  in  a  greater  de- 
gree. 

On  account  of  Raste's  unsavory  reputation  and 
her  own  incompetency,  she  was  constantly  moving 


28  LADY  JANE 

from  one  neighborhood  to  another,  and,  by  a  nat- 
ural descent  in  the  scale  of  misfortune,  at  last  found 
herself  in  a  narrow  little  street,  in  the  little  village  of 
Gretna,  one  of  the  most  unlovely  suburbs  of  New 
Orleans. 

The  small  one-story  house  she  occupied  contained 
but  two  rooms,  and  a  shed,  which  served  as  a  kitchen. 
It  stood  close  to  the  narrow  sidewalk,  and  its  green 
door  was  reached  by  two  small  steps.  Madame  Jo- 
zain,  dressed  in  a  black  skirt  and  a  white  sack,  sat 
upon  these  steps  in  the  evening  and  gossiped  with 
her  neighbor.  The  house  was  on  the  corner  of  the 
street  that  led  to  the  ferry,  and  her  greatest  amuse- 
ment (for,  on  account  of  her  lameness,  she  could 
not  run  with  the  others  to  see  the  train  arrive)  was  to 
sit  on  her  doorstep  and  watch  the  passengers  walk- 
ing by  on  their  way  to  the  river. 

On  this  particular  hot  July  evening,  she  felt  very 
tired,  and  very  cross.  Her  affairs  had  gone  badly 
all  day.  She  had  not  succeeded  with  some  lace  she 
had  been  doing  for  Madame  Joubert,  the  wife  of  the 
grocer,  on  the  levee,  and  Madame  Joubert  had 
treated  her  crossly  —  in  fact  had  condemned  her 
work,  and  refused  to  take  it  until  made  up  again; 
and  Madame  Jozain  needed  the  money  sorely.  She 


.LADY  JANE  29 

had  expected  to  be  paid  for' the  work,  but  instead  of 
paying  her  that  "  little  cat  of  a  Madame  Joubert " 
had  fairly  insulted  her.  She,  Madame  Jozain,  nee 
Bergeron.  The  Bergerons  were  better  than  the  Jou- 
berts.  Her  father  had  been  one  of  the  City  Council, 
and  had  died  rich,  and  her  husband  —  well,  her  hus- 
band had  been  unfortunate,  but  he  was  a  gentleman, 
while  the  Jouberts  were  common  and  always  had 
been.  She  would  get  even  with  that  proud  little 
fool ;  she  would  punish  her  in  some  way.  Yes,  she 
would  do  her  lace  over,  but  she  would  soak  it  in  soda, 
so  that  it  would  drop  to  pieces  the  first  time  it  was 
worn. 

Meantime  she  was  tired  and  hungry,  and  she  had 
nothing  in  the  house  but  some  coffee  and  cold  rice. 
She  had  given  Raste  her  last  dime,  and  he  had  quar- 
reled with  her  and  gone  off  to  play  "  craps  "  with  his 
chums  on  the  levee.  Besides,  she  was  very  lone- 
some, for  there  was  but  one  house  on  her  left,  and 
beybnd  it  was  a  wide  stretch  of  pasture,  and  oppo- 
site there  was  nothing  but  the  blank  walls  of  a  row 
of  warehouses  belonging  to  the  railroad,  and  her 
only  neighbor,  the  occupant  of  the  next  cottage,  had 
gone  away  to  spend  a  month  with  a  daughter  who 
lived  "  down  town,"  on  the  other  side  of  the  river. 


#>  LADY  JANE 

So,  as  she  sat  there  alone,  she  looked  around  her 
with  an  expression  of  great  dissatisfaction,  yawn- 
ing wearily,  and  wishing  that  she  was  not  so  lame, 
so  that  she  could  run  out  to  the  station,  and  see  what 
was  going  on :  and  that  boy,  Raste,  she  wondered  if 
he  was  throwing  away  her  last  dime.  He  often 
brought  a  little  money  home.  If  he  did  not  bring 
some  now,  they  would  have  no  breakfast  in  the 
morning. 

Then  the  arriving  train  whistled,  and  she  straight- 
ened up  and  her  face  took  on  a  look  of  expectancy. 

"  Not  many  passengers  to-night,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, as  a  few  men  hurried  by  with  bags  and  bun- 
dles. "  They  nearly  all  g'o  to  the  lower  ferry,  now." 

In  a  moment  they  had  all  passed,  and  the  event  of 
the  evening  was  over.  But  no !  —  and  she  leaned 
forward  and  peered  up  the  street  with  fresh  curi- 
osity. "  Why,  here  come  a  lady  and  a  little  girl  and 
they  're  not  hurrying  at  all.  She  '11  lose  the  ferry  if 
she  does  n't  mind.  I  wonder  what  ails  her  ?  —  she 
walks  as  if  she  could  n't  see." 

Presently  the  two  reached  her  corner,  a  lady  in 
mourning,  and  a  little  yellow-haired  girl  carefully 
holding  a  small  basket  in  one  hand,  while  she  clung 
to  her  mother's  gown  with  the  other. 


LADY  JANE  31 

Madame  Jozain  noticed,  before  the  lady  reached 
her,  that  she  tottered  several  times,  as  if  about  to 
fall,  and  put  out  her  hand,  as  if  seeking  for  some 
support.  She  seemed  dizzy  and  confused,  and  was 
passing-  on  by  the  comer,  when  the  child  said 
entreatingly,  "  Stop  here  a  minute,  mama,  and 
rest." 

Then  the  woman  lifted  her  veil  and  saw  Madame 
Jozain  looking  up  at  her,  her  soft  eyes  full  of  com- 
passion. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  rest  here  a  moment  ?  I  'm 
ill  and  a  little  faint, —  perhaps  you  will  give  me  a 
glass  of  water?  " 

"  Why,  certainly,  my  dear,"  said  madame,  getting 
up  alertly,  in  spite  of  her  lameness.  "  Come  in  and 
sit  down  in  my  rocking-chair.  You  're  too  late  for 
the  ferry.  It  '11  be  gone  before  you  get  there,  and 
you  may  as  well  be  comfortable  while  you  wait  — 
come  right  in." 

The  exhausted  woman  entered  willingly.  The 
room  was  neat  and  cool,  and  a  large  white  bed,  which 
was  beautifully  clean,  for  madame  prided  herself 
upon  it,  looked  very  inviting. 

The  mother  sank  into  a  chair,  and  dropped  her 
head  on  the  bed;  the  child  set  down  the  basket  and 


32  LADY  JANE 

clung  to  her  mother  caressingly,  while  she  looked 
around  with  timid,  anxious  eyes. 

Madame  Jozain  hobbled  off  for  a  glass  of  water 
and  a  bottle  of  ammonia,  which  she  kept  for  her 
laces;  then,  with  gentle,  deft  hands,  she  removed  the 
bonnet  and  heavy  veil,  and  bathed  the  poor  woman's 
hot  forehead  and  burning  hands,  while  the  child 
clung  to  her  mother  murmuring,  "  Mama,  dear 
mama,  does  your  head  ache  now  ?  " 

"  I  'm  better  now,  darling,"  the  mother  replied 
after  a  few  moments ;  then  turning  to  madame,  she 
said  in  her  sweet,  soft  tones,  "  Thank  you  so  much. 
I  feel  quite  refreshed,  The  heat  and  fatigue  ex- 
hausted my  strength.  I  should  have  fallen  in  the 
street  had  it  not  been  for  you." 

"  Have  you  traveled  far?  "  asked  madame,  gently 
sympathetic. 

"  From  San  Antonio,  and  I  was  ill  when  I 
started  " ;  and  again  she  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned 
her  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair. 

At  the  first  glance,  madame  understood  the  sit- 
uation. She  saw  from  the  appearance  of  mother 
and  child,  that  they  were  not  poor.  In  this  acci- 
dental encounter  was  a  possible  opportunity,  but  how 
far  she  could  use  it  she  could  not  yet  determine ;  so 


LADY  JANE  33 

she  said  only,  "  That 's  a  long  way  to  come  alone  " ; 
then  she  adcjed,  in  a  casual  tone,  "  especially  when 
one  's  ill." 

The  lady  did  not  reply,  and  madame  went  on  ten- 
tatively, "  Perhaps  some  one  's  waiting  for  you  on 
the  other  side,  and  '11'  come  back  on  the  ferry  to  see 
what 's  become  of  you." 

"  No.  No  one  expects  me ;  I  'm  on  my  way  to 
New  York.  I  have  a  friend  living  on  Jackson 
Street.  I  thought  I  would  go  there  and  rest  a  day 
or  so ;  but  I  did  wrong  to  get  off  the  train  here.  I 
was  not  able  to  walk  to  the  ferry.  I  should  have 
gone  on  to  the  lower  station,  and  saved  myself  the 
exertion  of  walking." 

"  Well,  don't  mind  now,  dear,"  returned  madame, 
soothingly.  "  Just  rest  a  little,  and  when  it 's  time 
for  the  boat  to  be  back,  I  '11  go  on  down  to  the  ferry 
with  you.  It 's  only  a  few  steps,  and  I  can  hobble 
that  far.  I  '11  see  you  safe  on  board,  and  when  you 
get  across,  you  '11  find  a  carriage." 

"  Thank  you,  you  're  very  good.  I  should  like 
to  get  there  as  soon  as  possible,  for  I  feel  dreadfully 
ill,"  and  again  the  weary  eyes  closed,  and  the  heavy 
head  fell  back  against  its  resting-place. 

Madame  Jozain  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  seri- 


34  LADY  JANE 

ously  and  silently;  then  she  turned,  smiling  sweetly 
on  the  child.  "  Come  here,  my  dear,  and  let  me  take 
off  your  hat  and  cool  your  head  while  you're  wait- 
ing." 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  'm  going  with  mama." 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly ;  but  won't  you  tell  me  your 
name  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Lady  Jane,"  she  replied  gravely. 

"  Lady  Jane?  Well,  I  declare,  that  just  suits  you, 
for  you  are  a  little  lady,  and  no  mistake.  Aren't 
you  tired,  and  warm  ?  " 

"  I  'm  very  hungry ;  I  want  my  supper,"  said  the 
child  frankly. 

Madame  winced,  remembering  her  empty  cup- 
board, but  went  on  chatting  cheerfully  to  pass  away 
the  time. 

Presently  the  whistle  of  the  approaching  ferry- 
boat sounded ;  the  mother  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  the 
child  took  the  bag  in  one  hand,  and  the  basket  in 
the  other.  "  Come,  mama,  let  us  go,"  she  cried 
eagerly. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  madame,  solicitously,  "  but 
you  look  so  white  and  sick.  I  'm  afraid  you  can't 
get  to  the  ferry  even  with  me  to  help  you.  I  wish 


LADY  JANE  35 

my  Raste  was  here ;  he  's  so  strong,  he  could  carry 
you  if  you  gave  out." 

"I  think  I  can  walk;  I'll  try,"  and  the  poor 
woman  staggered  to  her  feet,  only  to  fall  back  into 
Madame  Jozain's  arms  in  a  dead  faint. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN   INTERRUPTED   JOURNEY 

FOR  a  moment,  madame  debated  on  what  was 
best  to  be  done;  then,  finding  herself  equal  to 
the  emergency,  she  gently  laid  the  unconscious 
woman  on  the  bed,  unfastened  her  dress,  and  slowly 
and  softly  removed  her  clothing.  Although  ma- 
dame  was  lame,  she  was  very  strong,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  sufferer  was  resting  between  the  clean, 
cool  sheets,  while  her  child  clung  to  her  cold  hands 
and  sobbed  piteously. 

"  Don't  cry,  my  little  dear,  don't  cry.  Help  me 
to  bathe  your  mama's  face ;  help  me  like  a  good  child, 
and  she  '11  be  better  soon,  now  she  's  comfortable  and 
can  rest." 

With  the  thought  that  she  could  be  of  some  assist- 
ance, Lady  Jane  struggled  bravely  to  swallow  her 
sobs,  took  off  her  hat  with  womanly  gravity,  and 
prepared  herself  to  assist  as  nurse. 

"  Here 's  smelling  salts,  and  cologne- water,"  she 
36 


LADY  JANE  37 

said,  opening  her  mother's  bag.  "  Mama  likes  this ; 
let  me  wet  her  handkerchief." 

Madame  Jozain,  watching  the  child's  movements, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  silver  fittings  of  the  bag,  and 
of  a  bulging  pocket-book  within  it,  and,  while  the 
little  girl  was  hanging  over  her  mother,  she  quietly 
removed  the  valuables  to  the  drawer  of  her  armoire, 
which  she  locked,  and  put  the  key  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  must  keep  these  things  away  from  Raste,"  she 
said  to  herself ;  "  he  's  so  thoughtless  and  impulsive, 
he  might  take  them  without  considering  the  conse- 
quences." 

For  some  time  madame  bent  over  the  stranger, 
using  every  remedy  she  knew  to  restore  her  to  con- 
sciousness, while  the  child  assisted  her  with  thought- 
fulness  and  self-control,  really  surprising  in  one  of 
her  age.  Sometimes  her  hot  tears  fell  on  her 
mother's  white  face,  but  no  sob  or  cry  escaped  her 
little  quivering  lips,  while  she  bathed  the  pale  fore- 
head, smoothed  the  beautiful  hair,  and  rubbed  the 
soft,  cold  hands. 

At  length,  with  a  shiver  and  a  convulsive  groan, 
the  mother  partly  opened  her  eyes,  but  there  was  no 
recognition  in  their  dull  gaze. 

"  Mama,  dear,  dear  mama,  are  you  better?  "  im- 


38  LADY  JANE 

plored  the  child,  as  she  hung  over  her  and  kissed  her 
passionately. 

"  You  see  she  's  opened  her  eyes,  so  she  must  be 
better;  but  she's  sleepy,"  said  madame  gently. 
"  Now,  my  little  dear,  all  she  needs  is  rest,  and  you 
must  n't  disturb  her.  You  must  be  very  quiet,  and 
let  her  sleep.  Here 's  some  nice,  fresh  milk  the 
milkman  has  just  brought.  Won't  you  eat  some  rice 
and  milk,  and  then  let  me  take  off  your  clothes,  and 
bathe  you,  and  you  can  slip  on  your  little  nightgown 
that 's  in  your  mother's  bag ;  and  then  you  can  lie 
down  beside  her  and  sleep  till  morning,  and  in  the 
morning  you  '11  both  be  well  and  nicely  rested." 

Lady  Jane  agreed  to  madame's  arrangements  with 
perfect  docility,  but  she  would  not  leave  her  mother, 
who  had  fallen  into  a  heavy  stupor,  and  appeared  to 
be  resting  comfortably. 

"If  you  '11  please  to  let  me  sit  by  the  bed  close  to 
mama  and  eat  the  rice  and  milk,  I  '11  take  it,  for  I  'm 
very  hungry." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear ;  you  can  sit  there  and  hold 
her  hand  all  the  time;  I  '11  put  your  supper  on  this 
little  table  close  by  you." 

And  madame  bustled  about,  apparently  overflow- 
ing with  kindly  attentions.  She  watched  the  child 


LADY  JANE  39 

eat  the  rice  and  milk,  smiling  benevolently  the  while ; 
then  she  bathed  her,  and  put  on  the  fine  little  night- 
gown, braided  the  thick  silken  hair,  and  was  about 
to  lift  her  up  beside  her  mother,  when  Lady  Jane 
exclaimed  in  a  shocked  voice: 

"  You  must  n't  put  me  to  bed  yet ;  I  have  n't  said 
my  prayers."  Her  large  eyes  were  full  of  solemn 
reproach  as  she  slipped  from  madame's  arms  down 
to  the  side  of  the  bed.  "  Mama  can't  hear  them, 
because  she  's  asleep,  but  God  can,  for  he  never 
sleeps."  Then  she  repeated  the  touching  little 
formula  that  all  pious  mothers  teach  their  children, 
adding  fervently  several  times,  "  and  please  make 
dear  mama  well,  so  that  we  can  leave  this  place  early 
to-morrow  morning." 

Madame  smiled  grimly  at  the  last  clause  of  the 
petition,  and  a  great  many  curious  thoughts  whirled 
through  her  brain. 

As  the  child  rose  from  her  kneesJier  eyes  fell  on 
the  basket  containing  the  blue  heron,  which  stood 
quite  neglected,  just  where  she  placed  it  when  her 
mother  fainted. 

"  Oh,  oh ! "  she  cried,  springing  toward  it. 
"Why,  I  forgot  it !  My  Tony,  my  dear  Tony !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  madame,  starting  back  in 


40  LADY  JANE 

surprise  at  the  rustling  sound  within  the  basket. 
"  Why,  it 's  something  alive !  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  alive,"  said  Lady  Jane,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  It 's  a  bird,  a  blue  heron.  Such  a  nice  boy 
gave  it  to  me  on  the  cars." 

"  Ah,"  ejaculated  madame,  "  a  boy  gave  it  to  you ; 
some  one  you  knew  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  saw  him  before." 

"  Don't  you  know  his  name?  " 

"  That 's  funny,"  and  the  child  laughed  softly  to 
herself.  "  No,  I  don't  know  his  name.  I  never 
thought  to  ask;  besides  he  was  a  stranger,  and  it 
would  n't  have  been  polite,  you  know." 

"  No,  it  would  n't  have  been  polite,"  repeated 
madame.  "  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  this 
long-legged  thing?" 

"  It 's  not  a  thing.  It 's  a  blue  heron,  and  they  're 
very  rare,"  returned  the  child  stoutly. 

She  had  untied  the  cover  and  taken  the  bird  out 
of  the  basket,  and  now  stood  in  her  nightgown  and 
little  bare  feet,  holding  it  in  her  arms,  and  stroking 
the  feathers  softly,  while  she  glanced  every  moment 
toward  tl  e  bed. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him  to- 
night. I  know  he  's  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  I  'm 


LADY  JANE  41 

afraid  to  let  him  out  for  fear  he  '11  get  away  " ;  and 
she  raised  her  little  anxious  face  to  madame  inquir- 
ingly, for  she  felt  overburdened  with  her  numerous 
responsibilities. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  we  '11  do  with  him,"  said  ma- 
dame,  alertly  —  she  was  prepared  for  every  emer- 
gency. "  I  've  a  fine  large  cage.  It  was  my  par- 
rot's cage;  he  was  too  clever  to  live,  so  he  died  a 
while  ago,  and  his  empty  cage  is  hanging  in  the 
kitchen.  I  '11  get  it,  and  you  can  put  your  bird 
in  it  for  to-night,  and  we  '11  feed  him  and  give  him 
water ;  he  '11  be  quite  safe,  so  you  need  n't  worry 
about  him." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Lady  Jane,  with 
more  politeness  than  warmth.  "  My  mama  will 
thank  you,  too,  when  she  wakes." 

After  seeing  Tony  safely  put  in  the  cage,  with  a 
saucer  of  rice  for  his  supper,  and  a  cup  of  water  to 
wash  it  down,  Lady  Jane  climbed  up  on  the  high 
bed,  and  not  daring  to  kiss  her  mother  good-night 
lest  she  might  disturb  her,  she  nestled  close  to  her. 
Worn  out  with  fatigue,  she  was  soon  sleeping 
soundly  and  peacefully. 

For  some  time  Madame  Jozain  sat  by  the  bed, 
watching  the  sick  stranger,  and  wondering  who  she 


42  LADY  JANE 

was,  and  whether  her  sudden  illness  was  likely  to  be 
long  and  serious.  "  If  I  could  keep  her  here,  and 
nurse  her,"  she  thought,  "  no  doubt  she  would  pay 
me  well.  I  'd  rather  nurse  than  do  lace ;  and  if 
she  's  very  bad  she  'd  better  not  be  moved.  I  'd  take 
good  care  of  her,  and  make  her  comfortable;  and  if 
she  's  no  friends  about  here  to  look  after  her,  she  'd 
be  better  off  with  me  than  in  the  hospital.  Yes,  it 
would  be  cruel  to  send  her  to  the  hospital.  Ladies 
don't  like  to  go  there.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  she  's 
going  to  have  a  fever,"  and  madame  laid  her  fingers 
on  the  burning  hand  and  fluttering  puhe  of  the 
sleeper.  "  This  is  n't  healthy,  natural  sleep.  I  've 
nursed  too  many  with  fever,  not  to  know.  I  doubt 
if  she  '11  come  to  her  senses  again.  If  she  does  n't 
no  one  will  ever  know  who  she  is,  and  I  may  as  well 
have  the  benefit  of  nursing  her  as  any  one  else;  but 
I  must  be  careful,  I  must  n't  let  her  lie  here  and  die 
without  a  doctor.  That  would  never  do.  If  she  's 
not  better  in  the  morning  I  '11  send  for  Doctor 
Debrot ;  I  know  he  '11  be  glad  to  come,  for  he  never 
has  any  practice  to  speak  of  now,  he  's  so  old  and 
stupid;  he's  a  good  doctor,  and  I'd  feel  safe  to 
have  him." 

After  a  while  she  got  up  and  went  out  on  the 


LADY  JANE  43 

doorstep  to  wait  for  Raste.  The  night  was  very 
quiet,  a  fresh  breeze  cooled  the  burning  heat,  the 
stars  shone  brightly  and  softly,  and  as  she  sat 
there  alone  and  lifted  her  mild  eyes  toward  the  sky 
no  one  would  have  dreamed  of  the  strange  thoughts 
that  were  passing  through  her  mind.  Now  she  was 
neither  hungry  nor  lonesome ;  a  sudden  excitement 
thrilled  her  through  and  through.  She  was  about 
to  engage  in  a  project  that  might  compensate  her 
for  all  her  misfortunes.  The  glimpse  she  had  of 
money,  of  valuables,  of  possible  gain,  awakened  all 
her  cupidity.  The  only  thing  she  cared  for  now 
was  money.  She  hated  work,  she  hated  to  be  at  the 
beck  and  call  of  those  she  considered  beneath  her. 
What  a  gratification  it  would  be  to  her  to  refuse 
to  do  Madame  Joubert's  lace,  to  fling  it  at  her,  and 
tell  her  to  take  it  elsewhere!  With  a  little  ready 
money,  she  could  be  so  independent  and  so  comfort- 
able. Raste  had  a  knack  of  getting  together  a  great 
deal  in  one  way  and  another.  He  was  lucky;  if  he 
had  a  little  to  begin  with  he  could,  perhaps,  make  a 
fortune.  Then  she  started,  and  looked  around  as 
one  might  who  suddenly  found  himself  on  the  brink 
of  an  awful  chasm.  From  within  she  heard  the 
sick  stranger  moan  and  toss  restlessly;  then,  in  a 


44  LADY  JANE 

moment,  all  was  quiet  again.  Presently,  she  began 
to  debate  in  her  mind  how  far  she  should  admit  Raste 
to  her  confidence.  Should  she  let  him  know  about 
the  money  and  valuables  she  had  hidden  ?  The  key 
in  her  bosom  seemed  to  burn  like  a  coal  of  fire.  No, 
she  would  not  tell  him  about  the  money.  While 
taking  the  child's  nightgown  from  the  bag,  she  had 
discovered  the  railroad  tickets,  two  baggage  checks, 
and  a  roll  of  notes  and  loose  change  in  a  little  com- 
partment of  the  bag.  He  would  think  that  was  all ; 
and  she  would  never  tell  him  of  the  other. 

At  that  moment,  she  heard  him  coming  down  the 
street,  singing  a  rollicking  song.  So  she  got  up, 
and  hobbled  toward  him,  for  she  feared  he  might 
waken  the  sleepers.  He  was  a  great  overgrown, 
red- faced,  black-eyed  fellow,  coarse  and  strong,  with 
a  loud,  dashing  kind  of  beauty,  and  he  was  very  ob- 
serving, and  very  shrewd.  She  often  said  he  had  all 
his  father's  cunning  and  penetration,  therefore  she 
must  disguise  her  plans  carefully. 

"  Hallo,  mum,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  her  limping 
toward  him,  her  manner  eager,  her  face  rather  pale 
and  excited ;  "  what 's  up  now  ?  "  It  was  unusual 
for  her  to  meet  him  in  that  way. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Raste.     Don't  make  a  noise.     Such 


LADY  JANE  45 

a  strange  thing  has  happened  since  you  went  out! " 
said  madame,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Sit  down  here  on 
the  steps,  and  I  '11  tell  you." 

Then  briefly,  and  without  much  show  of  interest, 
she  told  him  of  the  arrival  of  the  strangers,  and  of 
the  young  woman's  sudden  illness. 

"  And  they  're  in  there  asleep,"  he  said,  pointing 
with  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  room. 
"  That 's  a  fine  thing  for  you  to  do  —  to  saddle  your- 
self with  a  sick  woman  and  a  child." 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  "  asked  madame  indignantly. 
"  You  would  n't  have  me  turn  a  fainting  woman 
into  the  street?  It  won't  cost  anything  for  her  to 
sleep  in  my  bed  to-night.0 

"  What  is  she  like?  Is  she  one  of  the  poor  sort? 
Did  you  look  over  her  traps?  Has  she  got  any 
money  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Oh,  Raste,  Raste;  as  if  I  searched  her  pockets! 
She 's  beautifully  dressed,  and  so  is  the  child. 
She  's  got  a  fine  watch  and  chain,  and  when  I 
opened  her  bag  to  get  the  child's  nightgown,  I  saw 
that  it  was  fitted  up  with  silver." 

"  What  luck ! "  exclaimed  Raste  brightly. 
"  Then  she  's  a  swell,  and  to-morrow  when  she  goes 
away  she  '11  give  you  as  much  as  a  *  fiver.' ' 


46  LADY  JANE 

"  I  don't  believe  she  '11  be  able  to  go  to-morrow. 
I  think  she  's  down  for  a  long  sickness.  If  she  's 
no  better  in  the  morning,  I  want  you  to  cross  and 
find  Dr.  Debrot." 

"  Old  Debrot  ?  That 's  fun !  Why,  he  's  no  good 
—  he  '11  kill  her." 

"  Nonsense;  you  know  he  's  one  of  the  best  doc- 
tors in  the  city." 

"  Sometimes,  yes.  But  you  can't  keep  the  woman 
here,  if  she's  sick;  you'll  have  to  send  her  to  the 
hospital.  And  you  did  n't  find  out  her  name,  nor 
where  she  belongs?  Suppose  she  dies  on  your 
hands?  What  then?" 

"  If  I  take  care  of  her  and  she  dies,  I  can't  help 
it;  and  I  may  as  well  have  her  things  as  any  one 
else." 

"But  has  she  got  anything  worth  having? 
Enough  to  pay  you  for  trouble  and  expense?"  he 
asked.  Then  he  whistled  softly,  and  added,  "  Oh, 
mum,  you  're  a  deep  one,  but  I  see  through  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  boy,"  said  ma- 
dame,  indignantly.  "Of  course,  if  I  nurse  the 
woman,  and  give  up  my  bed  to  her,  I  expect  to  be 
paid.  I  hate  to  send  her  to  the  hospital,  and  I  don't 


LADY  JANE  47 

know  her  name,  nor  the  name  of  her  friends.  So 
what  can  I  do?" 

"  Do  just  what  you  Ve  planned  to  do,  mum.  Go 
right  ahead,  but  be  careful  and  cover  up  your 
tracks.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Madame  made  no  reply  to  this  disinterested  piece 
of  advice,  but  sat  silently  thinking  for  some  time. 
At  last  she  said  in  a  persuasive  tone,  "  Did  n't  you 
bring  some  money  from  the  levee  ?  I  've  had  no 
supper,  and  I  intend  to  sit  up  all  night  with  that 
poor  woman.  Can't  you  go  to  Joubert's  and  get 
me  some  bread  and  cheese?  " 

"  Money,  money  —  look  here !  "  and  the  young 
scapegrace  pulled  out  a  handful  of  silver.  "  That's 
what  I  Ve  brought." 

An  hour  later  madame  and  Raste  sat  in  the  little 
kitchen,  chatting  over  their  supper  in  the  most 
friendly  way;  while  the  sick  woman  and  the  child 
still  slept  profoundly  in  the  small  front  room. 


CHAPTER  V 

LAST   DAYS  AT   GRETNA 

THE  next  morning,  Madame  Jozain  sent  Raste 
across  the  river  for  Dr.  Debrot,  for  the  sick 
woman  still  lay  in  a  heavy  stupor,  her  dull  eyes 
partly  closed,  her  lips  parched  and  dry,  and  the  crim- 
son flush  of  fever  burning  on  cheek  and  brow. 

Before  Raste  went,  Madame  Jozain  took  the 
traveling  bag  into  the  kitchen,  and  together  they  ex- 
amined its  contents.  There  were  the  two  baggage- 
checks,  the  tickets  and  money,  besides  the  usual 
articles  of  clothing,  and  odds  and  ends;  but  there 
was  no  letter,  nor  .card,  nor  name,  except  the  mono- 
gram, /.  C.,  on  the  silver  fittings,  to  assist  in  es- 
tablishing the  stranger's  identity. 

"  Had  n't  I  better  take  these,"  said  Raste,  slipping 
the  baggage-checks  into  his  pocket,  "  and  have  her 
baggage  sent  over?  When  she  comes  to,  you  can 
tell  her  that  she  and  the  young  one  needed  clothes, 
and  you  thought  it  was  best  to  get  them.  You  can 

48 


LADY  JANE  49 

make  that  all  right  when  she  gets  well,"  and  Raste 
smiled  knowingly  at  madame,  whose  face  wore  an 
expression  of  grave  solicitude  as  she  said : 

"  Hurry,  my  son,  and  bring  the  doctor  back  with 
you.  I  'm  so  anxious  about  the  poor  thing,  and  I 
dread  to  have  the  child  wake  and  find  her  mother 
no  better." 

When  Doctor  Debrot  entered  Madame  Jozain's 
front  room,  his  head  was  not  as  clear  as  it  ought  to 
have  been,  and  he  did  not  observe  anything  peculiar 
in  the  situation.  He  had  known  madame,  more  or 
less,  for  a  number  of  years,  and  he  might  be  con- 
sidered one  of  the  friends  who  thought  well  of  her. 
Therefore,  he  never  suspected  that  the  young 
woman  lying  there  in  a  stupor  was  any  other  than 
the  relative  from  Texas  madame  represented  her  to 
be.  And  she  was  very  ill,  of  that  there  could  be  no 
doubt;  so  ill  as  to  awaken  all  the  doctor's  long 
dormant  professional  ambition.  There  were  new 
features  in  the  case;  the  fever  was  peculiar.  It 
might  have  been  produced  by  certain  conditions  and 
localities.  It  might  be  contagious,  it  might  not  be, 
he  could  not  say;  but  of  one  thing  he  was  certain, 
there  would  be  no  protracted  struggle,  the  crisis 
would  arrive  very  soon.  She  would  either  be  better 


50  LADY  JANE 

or  beyond  help  in  a  few  days,  and  it  was  more  than 
likely  that  she  would  never  recover  consciousness. 
He  would  do  all  he  could  to  save  her,  and  he  knew 
Madame  Jozain  was  an  excellent  nurse;  she  had 
nursed  with  him  through  an  epidemic.  The  invalid 
could  not  be  in  better  hands.  Then  he  wrote  a 
prescription,  and  while  he  was  giving  madame  some 
general  directions,  he  patted  kindly  the  golden  head 
of  the  lovely  child,  who  leaned  over  the  bed  with  her 
large,  solemn  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother's  face,  while 
her  little  hands  caressed  the  tangled  hair  and  burn- 
ing cheeks. 

"  Her  child?  "  he  asked,  looking  sadly  at  the  little 
creature. 

"  Yes,  the  only  one.  She  takes  it  hard.  I  really 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  her." 

"Poor  lamb,  poor  lamb!"  he  muttered,  as  ma- 
dame  hurried  him  to  the  door. 

Shortly  after  the  doctor  left,  there  was  a  little 
ripple  of  excitement,  which  entered  even  into  the 
sick-room  —  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  Raste  giving 
orders  in  a  subdued  voice,  while  two  large,  hand- 
some trunks  were  brought  in  and  placed  in  the 
corner  of  the  back  apartment.  These  two  immense 
boxes  looked  strangely  out  of  place  amid  their  hum- 


LADY  JANE  51 

ble  sunoundings;  and  when  madame  looked  at 
them  she  almost  trembled,  thinking  of  the  difficulty 
of  getting  rid  of  such  witnesses  should  a  day  of 
reckoning  ever  come.  When  the  little  green  door 
closed  on  them,  it  seemed  as  if  the  small  house  had 
swallowed  up  every  trace  of  the  mother  and  child, 
and  that  their  identity  was  lost  forever. 

For  several  days  the  doctor  continued  his  visits, 
in  a  more  or  less  lucid  condition,  and  every  day  he 
departed  with  a  more  dejected  expression  on  his 
haggard  face.  He  saw  almost  from  the  first  that 
the  case  was  hopeless ;  and  his  heart  (  for  he  still  had 
one)  ached  for  the  child,  whose  wide  eyes  seemed 
to  haunt  him  with  their  intense  misery.  Every  day 
he  saw  her  sitting  by  her  mother's  side,  pale  and 
quiet,  with  such  a  pitiful  look  of  age  on  her  little 
face,  such  repressed  suffering  in  every  line  and  ex- 
pression as  she  watched  him  for  some  gleam  of  hope, 
that  the  thought  of  it  tortured  him  and  forced  him  to 
affect  a  cheerfulness  and  confidence  which  he  did 
not  feel.  But,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  deceive  her, 
she  was  not  comforted.  She  seemed  to  see  deeper 
than  the  surface.  Her  mother  had  never  recognized 
her,  never  spoken  to  her,  since  that  dreadful  night, 
and,  in  one  respect,  she  seemed  already  dead  to  her. 


52  LADY  JANE 

Sometimes  she  seemed  unable  to  control  herself, 
and  would  break  out  into  sharp,  passionate  cries, 
and  implore  her  mother,  with  kisses  and  caresses, 
to  speak  to  her  —  to  her  darling,  her  baby.  "  Wake 
up,  mama,  wake  up !  It 's  Lady  Jane !  It 's  darl- 
ing! Oh,  mama,  wake  up  and  speak  to  me!  "  she 
would  cry  almost  fiercely. 

Then,  when  madame  would  tell  her  that  she  must 
be  quiet,  or  her  mother  would  never  get  well,  it  was 
touching  to  witness  her  efforts  at  self-control.  She 
would  sit  for  hours  silent  and  passive,  with  her 
mother's  hand  clasped  in  hers,  and  her  lips  pressed 
to  the  feeble  fingers  that  had  no  power  to  return  her 
tender  caress. 

Whatever  was  good  in  Madame  Jozain  showed 
itself  in  compassion  for  the  suffering  little  one,  and 
no  one  could  have  been  more  faithful  than  she  in  her 
care  of  both  the  mother  and  child;  she  felt  such  pity 
for  them,  that  she  soon  began  to  think  she  was  act- 
ing in  a  noble  and  disinterested  spirit  by  keeping 
them  with  her,  and  nursing  the  unfortunate  mother 
so  faithfully.  She  even  began  to  identify  herself 
with  them ;  they  were  hers  by  virtue  of  their  f riend- 
lessness ;  they  belonged  to  no  one  else,  therefore  they 
belonged  to  her;  and,  in  her  self-satisfaction,  she 


LADY  JANE  53 

imagined  that  she  was  not  influenced  by  any  un- 
worthy motive  in  her  treatment  of  them. 

One  day,  only  a  little  more  than  a  week  after  the 
arrival  of  the  strangers,  a  modest  funeral  wended 
its  way  through  the  narrow  streets  of  Gretna  toward 
the  ferry,  and  the  passers  stopped  to  stare  at  Adraste 
Jozain,  dressed  in  his  best  suit,  sitting  with  much 
dignity  beside  Dr.  Debrot  in  the  only  carriage  that 
followed  the  hearse. 

"  It 's  a  stranger,  a  relative  of  Madame  Jozain," 
said  one  who  knew.  "  She  came  from  Texas  with 
her  little  girl,  less  than  two  weeks  ago,  and  yester- 
day she  died,  and  last  night  the  child  was  taken 
down  with  the  same  fever,  and  they  say  she  's  un- 
conscious to-day,  so  madame  could  n't  leave  her  to 
go  to  the  funeral.  No  one  will  go  to  the  house, 
because  that  old  doctor  from  the  other  side  says  it 
may  be  catching." 

That  day  the  Bergeron  tomb  in  the  old  St.  Louis 
cemetery  was  opened  for  the  first  time  since  Ma- 
dame Jozain's  father  was  placed  there,  and  the 
lovely  young  widow  was  laid  amongst  those  who 
were  neither  kith  nor  kin. 

When  Raste  returned  from  the  funeral,  he  found 


54  LADY  JANE 

his  mother  sitting  beside  the  child,  who  lay  in  the 
same  heavy  stupor  that  marked  the  first  days  of 
the  mother's  illness.  The  pretty  golden  hair  was 
spread  over  the  pillow;  under  the  dark  lashes  were 
deep  violet  shadows,  and  the  little  cheeks  glowed 
with  the  crimson  hue  of  fever. 

Madame  was  dressed  in  her  best  black  gown,  and 
she  had  been  weeping  freely.  At  the  sight  of  Raste 
in  the  door,  she  started  up  and  burst  into  heart- 
breaking sobs. 

"  Oh,  mon  cher,  oh,  mon  ami,  we  are  doomed. 
Was  ever  any  one  so  unfortunate?  Was  ever  any 
one  so  punished  for  a  good  deed?  I  've  taken  a 
sick  stranger  into  my  house,  and  nursed  her  as  if  she 
were  my  own,  and  buried  her  in  my  family  tomb, 
and  now  the  child  's  taken  down,  and  Doctor  Debrot 
says  it  is  a  contagious  fever,  and  we  may  both  take 
it  and  die.  That 's  what  one  gets  in  this  world  for 
trying  to  do  good !  " 

"  Nonsense,  mum,  don't  look  on  the  dark  side ; 
old  Debrot  don't  know.  I  'm  the  one  that  gave  it 
out  that  the  fever  was  catching.  I  did  n't  want  to 
have  people  prying  about  here,  finding  out  every- 
thing. The  child  '11  be  better  or  worse  in  a  few  days, 
and  then  we  '11  clear  out  from  this  place,  raise  some 


LADY  JANE  55 

money  on  the  things,  and  start  fresh  somewhere 
else." 

"Well,"  said  madame,  wiping  away  her  tears, 
much  comforted  by  Raste's  cheerful  view  of  the 
situation,  "  no  one  can  say  that  I  have  n't  done  my 
duty  to  the  poor  thing,  and  I  mean  to  be  kind  to  the 
child,  and  nurse  her  through  the  fever  whether  it 's 
catching  or  not.  It 's  hard  to  be  tied  to  a  sick  bed 
this  hot  weather ;  but  I  'm  almost  thankful  the  little 
thing  's  taken  down,  and  is  n't  conscious,  for  it  was 
dreadful  to  see  the  way  she  mourned  for  her  mother. 
Poor  woman,  she  was  so  young  and  pretty,  and  had 
such  gentle  ways.  I  wish  I  knew  who  she  was, 
especially  now  I  've  put  her  in  the  Bergeron  tomb." 


CHAPTER  VI 

PEPSIE 

EVERY  one  about  that  part  of  Good  Children 
Street  knew  Pepsie.  She  had  been  a  cripple 
from  infancy,  and  her  mother,  Madelon,  or  "  Bon- 
nie Praline,"  as  she  was  called,  was  also  quite  a 
noted  figure  in  the  neighborhood.  They  lived  in  a 
tiny,  single  cottage,  wedged  in  between  the  pharma- 
cist, on  the  corner,  and  M.  Fernandez,  the  tobac- 
conist, on  the  other  side.  There  was  a  narrow  green 
door,  and  one  long  window,  with  an  ornamental  iron 
railing  across  it,  through  which  the  interior  of  the 
little  room  was  visible  from  the  outside.  It  was  a 
very  neat  little  place,  and  less  ugly  than  one  would 
expect  it  to  be.  A  huge  four-post  bed,  with  red 
tester  and  lace-covered  pillows,  almost  filled  one  side 
of  the  room ;  opposite  the  bed  a  small  fireplace  was 
hung  with  pink  paper,  and  the  mantel  over  it  was 
decorated  with  a  clock,  two  vases  of  bright  paper 
flowers,  a  blue  bottle,  and  a  green  plaster  parrot;  a 

56 


LADY  JANE  57 

small  armoire,  a  table  above  which  hung  a  crucifix 
and  a  highly  colored  lithograph  of  the  Bleeding 
Heart,  and  a  few  chairs  completed  the  furniture  of 
the  quaint  little  interior;  while  the  floor,  the  door- 
steps, and  even  the  sidewalk  were  painted  red  with 
powdered  brick-dust,  which  harmonized  very  well 
with  the  faded  yellow  stucco  of  the  walls  and  the 
dingy  green  of  the  door  and  batten  shutter. 

Behind  this  one  little  front  room  was  a  tiny 
kitchen  and  yard,  where  Madelon  made  her  pralines 
and  cakes,  and  where  Tite  Souris,  a  half-grown 
darky,  instead  of  a  "  little  mouse,"  washed,  cooked, 
and  scrubbed,  and  "  waited  on  Miss  Peps  "  during 
Madelon's  absence;  for  Madelon  was  a  merchant. 
She  had  a  stand  for  cakes  and  pralines  upon  Bour- 
bon Street,  near  the  French  Opera  House,  and 
thither  she  went  every  morning,  with  her  basket  and 
pans  of  fresh  pralines,  sugared  pecans,  and  calas 
tout  chaud,  a  very  tempting  array  of  dainties,  which 
she  was  sure  to  dispose  of  before  she  returned  at 
night ;  while  Pepsie,  her  only  child,  and  the  treasure 
of  her  life,  remained  at  home,  sitting  in  her  high 
chair  by  the  window,  behind  the  iron  railing. 

And  Pepsie  sitting  at  her  window  was  as  much  a 
part  of  the  street  as  were  the  queer  little  houses,  the 


58  LADY  JANE 

tiny  shops,  the  old  vegetable  woman,  the  cobbler  on 
the  banquette,  the  wine  merchant,  or  the  grocer. 
Every  one  knew  her:  her  long,  sallow  face  with 
flashing  dark  eyes,  wide  mouth  with  large  white 
teeth,  which  were  always  visible  in  a  broad  smile,  and 
the  shock  of  heavy  black  hair  twisted  into  a  quaint 
knot  on  top  of  her  head,  which  was  abnormally 
large,  and  set  close  to  the  narrow,  distorted  shoul- 
ders, were  always  visible,  "  from  early  morn  till 
dewy  eve,"  at  the  window ;  while  her  body  below  the 
shoulders  was  quite  hidden  by  a  high  table  drawn 
forward  over  her  lap.  On  this  table  Pepsie  shelled 
the  pecans,  placing  them  in  three  separate  piles,  the 
perfect  halves  in  one  pile,  those  broken  by  accident 
in  another,  and  those  slightly  shriveled,  and  a  little 
rancid,  in  still  another.  The  first  were  used  to  make 
the  sugared  pecans  for  which  Madelon  was  justly  fa- 
mous; the  second  to  manufacture  into  pralines,  so 
good  that  they  had  given  her  the  sobriquet  of 
"  Bonne  Praline  " ;  and  the  third  pile,  which  she  dis- 
dained to  use  in  her  business,  nothing  imperfect  ever 
entering  into  her  concoctions,  were  swept  into  a  box, 
and  disposed  of  to  merchants  who  had  less  principle 
and  less  patronage. 

All  day  long  Pepsie  sat  her  window,  wielding  her 


LADY  JANE  59 

little  iron  nut-cracker  with  much  dexterity.  While 
the  beautiful  clean  halves  fell  nearly  always  un- 
broken on  their  especial  pile,  she  saw  everything  that 
went  on  in  the  street,  her  bright  eyes  flashed  glances 
of  recognition  up  and  down,  her  broad  smile  greeted 
in  cordial  welcome  those  who  stopped  at  her  window 
to  chat,  and  there  was  nearly  always  some  one  at 
Pepsie's  window.  She  was  so  happy,  so  bright,  and 
so  amiable  that  every  one  loved  her,  and  she  was 
the  idol  of  all  the  children  in  the  neighborhood  — 
not,  however,  because  she  was  liberal  with  pecans. 
Oh,  no;  with  Pepsie,  business  was  business,  and 
pecans  cost  money,  and  every  ten  sugared  pecans 
meant  a  nickel  for  her  mother;  but  they  loved  to 
stand  around  the  window,  outside  the  iron  railing, 
and  watch  Pepsie  at  her  work.  They  liked  to  see 
her  with  her  pile  of  nuts  and  bowl  of  foaming  sugar 
before  her.  It  seemed  like  magic,  the  way  she  would 
sugar  them,  and  stick  them  together,  and  spread 
them  out  to  dry  on  the  clean  white  paper.  She  did 
it  so  rapidly  that  her  long  white  fingers  fairly  flashed 
between  the  bowl  of  sugar,  the  pile  of  nuts,  and  the 
paper.  And  there  always  seemed  just  enough  of 
each,  therefore  her  just  discrimination  was  a  con- 
stant wonder. 


60  LADY  JANE 

When  she  finished  her  task,  as  she  often  did  be- 
fore dark,  Tite  Souris  took  away  the  bowl  and  the 
tray  of  sugared  nuts,  after  Pepsie  had  counted  them 
and  put  the  number  down  in  a  little  book,  as  much 
to  protect  herself  against  Tite  Souris's  depredations 
as  to  know  the  exact  amount  of  their  stock  in  trade ; 
then  she  would  open  the  little  drawer  in  the  table,  and 
take  out  a  prayer-book,  a  piece  of  needle-work,  and 
a  pack  of  cards. 

She  was  very  pious,  and  read  her  prayers  several 
times  a  day ;  after  she  put  her  prayer-book  aside  she 
usually  devoted  some  time  to  her  needle-work,  for 
which  she  had  real  talent;  then,  when  she  thought 
she  had  earned  her  recreation,  she  put  away  her 
work,  spread  out  her  cards,  and  indulged  in  an  in- 
tricate game  of  solitaire.  This  was  her  passion; 
she  was  very  systematic,  and  very  conscientious ;  but 
if  she  ever  purloined  any  time  from  her  duties,  it  was 
that  she  might  engage  in  that  fascinating  game. 
She  decided  everything  by  it;  whatever  she  wished 
to  know,  two  games  out  of  three  would  give  her 
the  answer,  for  or  against. 

Sometimes  she  looked  like  a  little  witch  during  a 
wicked  incantation,  as  she  hovered  over  the  rows  of 
cards,  her  face  dark  and  brooding,  her  long,  thin 


LADY  JANE  61 

fingers  darting  here  and  there,  silent,  absorbed,  al- 
most breathless  under  the  fatal  spell  of  chance. 

In  this  way  she  passed  day  after  day,  always  in- 
dustrious, always  contented,  and  always  happy. 
She  was  very  comfortable  in  her  snug  little  room, 
which  was  warm  in  winter  and  cool  in  summer, 
owing  to  the  two  high  buildings  adjoining;  and  al- 
though she  was  a  cripple,  and  her  lower  limbs  use- 
less, she  suffered  little  pain,  unless  she  was  moved 
roughly,  or  jarred  in  some  way;  and  no  one  could 
be  more  carefully  protected  from  discomfort  than 
she  was,  for  although  she  was  over  twelve,  Madelon 
still  treated  her  as  if  she  were  a  baby.  Every  morn- 
ing, before  she  left  for  the  Rue  Bourbon,  she  bathed 
and  dressed  the  girl,  and  lifted  her  tenderly,  with  her 
strong  arms,  into  her  wheeled  chair,  where  she  drank 
her  coffee,  and  ate  her  roll,  as  dainty  as  a  little 
princess,  for  she  was  always  exquisitely  clean.  In 
the  summer  she  wore  pretty  little  white  sacks,  with  a 
bright  bow  of  ribbon  at  the  neck,  and  in  winter  her 
shrunken  figure  was  clothed  in  warm,  soft  woolen. 

Madelon  did  not  sit  out  all  day  in  rain  and  shine 
on  Bourbon  Street,  and  make  cakes  and  pralines  half 
the  night,  for  anything  else  but  to  provide  this  crip- 
pled mite  with  every  comfort.  As  I  said  before,  the 


62  LADY  JANE 

girl  was  her  idol,  and  she  had  toiled  day  and  night 
to  gratify  her  every  wish;  and,  as  far  as  she  knew, 
there  was  but  one  desire  unsatisfied,  and  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  that  she  was  working  and  saving 
little  by  little. 

Once  Pepsie  had  said  that  she  would  like  to  live 
in  the  country.  All  she  knew  of  the  country  was 
what  she  had  read  in  books,  and  what  her  mother, 
who  had  once  seen  the  country,  had  told  her.  Often 
she  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  hot,  narrow  street, 
and  thought  of  green  valleys,  with  rivers  running 
through  them,  and  hills  almost  touching  the  sky, 
and  broad  fields  shaded  by  great  trees,  and  covered 
with  waving  grass  and  flowers.  That  was  her  one 
unrealized  ideal, —  her  "  Carcassonne,"  which  she 
feared  she  was  never  to  reach,  except  in  imagination. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ARRIVAL 

ON  the  other  side  of  Good  Children  Street,  and 
almost  directly  opposite  Madelon's  tiny  cot- 
tage, was  a  double  house  of  more  pretentious  ap- 
pearance than  those  just  around  it.  It  was  a  little 
higher,  the  door  was  wider,  and  a  good-sized  win- 
dow on  each  side  had  a  small  balcony,  more  for  orna- 
ment than  use,  as  it  was  scarcely  wide  enough  to 
stand  on.  The  roof  projected  well  over  the  side- 
walk, and  there  was  some  attempt  at  ornamentation 
in  the  brackets  that  supported  it.  At  one  side  was  a 
narrow  yard  with  a  stunted  fig-tree,  and  a  ragged 
rose-bush  straggled  up  the  posts  of  a  small  side- 
gallery. 

This  house  had  been  closed  for  some  time.  The 
former  tenant  having  died,  his  family,  who  were 
respectable,  pleasant  people,  were  obliged  to  leave  it, 
much  to  Pepsie's  sorrow,  for  she  was  always  inter- 
ested in  her  neighbors,  and  she  had  taken  a  great 

63 


64  LADY  JANE 

deal  of  pleasure  in  observing  the  ways  of  this  house- 
hold. Therefore  she  was  very  tired  of  looking  at 
the  closed  doors  and  windows,  and  was  constantly 
wishing  that  some  one  would  take  it.  At  last, 
greatly  to  her  gratification,  one  pleasant  morning, 
late  in  August,  a  middle-aged  woman,  very  well 
dressed  in  black,  who  was  lame  and  walked  with  a 
stick,  a  young  man,  and  a  lovely  little  girl,  ap- 
peared on  the  scene,  stopped  before  the  empty  house, 
and  after  looking  at  it  with  much  interest  mounted 
the  steps,  unlocked  the  door,  and  entered. 

The  child  interested  Pepsie  at  once.  Although 
she  had  seen  very  few  high-bred  children  in  her 
short  life,  she  noticed  that  this  little  one  was  dif- 
ferent from  the  small  inhabitants  of  Good  Children 
Street.  Her  white  frock,  black  sash,  and  wide  black 
hat  had  a  certain  grace  uncommon  in  that  quarter, 
and  every  movement  and  step  had  an  elegant  ease, 
very  unlike  the  good-natured  little  Creoles  who 
played  around  Pepsie's  window. 

However,  it  was  not  only  the  child's  beauty,  her 
tasteful,  pretty  dress,  and  high-bred  air  that  inter- 
ested Pepsie;  it  was  the  pale,  mournful  little  face, 
and  the  frail  little  figure,  looking  so  wan  and  ill. 
The  woman  held  her  by  the  hand,  and  she  walked 


LADY  JANE  65 

very  slowly  and  feebly ;  the  robust,  black-eyed  young 
man  carried  a  small  basket,  which  the  child  watched 
constantly. 

Pepsie  could  not  remove  her  eyes  from  the  house, 
so  anxious  was  she  to  see  the  child  again;  but,  in- 
stead of  coming  out,  as  she  expected  they  would 
after  they  had  looked  at  the  house,  much  to  her  joy 
she  saw  the  young  man  flinging  open  the  shutters 
and  doors,  with  quite  an  air  of  ownership ;  then  she 
saw  the  woman  take  off  her  bonnet  and  veil,  and 
the  child's  hat,  and  hang  them  on  a  hook  near  the 
window.  Presently,  the  little  girl  came  out  on  the 
small  side-gallery  with  something  in  her  arms. 
Pepsie  strained  her  eyes,  and  leaned  forward  as  far 
as  her  lameness  would  allow  her  in  order  to  see  what 
the  child  had. 

"  It 's  a  cat ;  no,  it 's  a  dog ;  no,  it  is  n't.  Why,  it 
must  be  a  bird.  I  can  see  it  flutter  its  wings.  Yes, 
it 's  a  bird,  a  large,  strange-looking  bird.  I  wonder 
what  it  is !  "  And  Pepsie,  in  her  excitement  and  un- 
due curiosity,  almost  tipped  out  of  her  chair,  while 
the  child  looked  around  her  with  a  listless,  uninter- 
ested air,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  steps,  hugging  the 
bird  closely  and  stroking  its  feathers. 

"  Certainly,  they  've  come  to  stay,"  said  Pepsie 


66  LADY  JANE 

to  herself,  "  or  they  would  n't  open  all  the  windows, 
and  take  off  their  things.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  they 
have;  I  '11  just  get  my  cards,  and  find  out." 

But  Pepsie's  oracle  was  doomed  to  remain  silent, 
for,  before  she  got  them  spread  on  the  table,  there 
was  a  rumbling  of  wheels  in  the  street,  and  a  furni- 
ture-wagon, pretty  well  loaded,  drove  up  to  the  door. 
Pepsie  swept  her  cards  into  the  drawer,  and  watched 
it  unload  with  great  satisfaction. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  active  Tite  Souris  en- 
tered like  a  whirlwind,  her  braids  of  wool  sticking 
up,  and  her  face  all  eyes  and  teeth.  She  had  been 
out  on  the  banquette,  and  was  bursting  with  news. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Peps',  Miss  Peps',  sum  un  's  done  tuk 
dat  house  ov'  yon'er,  an'  is  a-movin'  in  dis  ver'  minit. 
It 's  a  woman  an'  a  boy,  an'  a  littl'  yaller  gal.  I 
means  a  littl'  gal  wid  yaller  ha'r  all  ove'  her,  an'  she 
got  a  littl'  long-legged  goslin',  a-huggin'  it  up  like 
she  awful  fond  uv  it." 

"Oh,  stop,  Tite;  go  away  to  your  work,"  cried 
Pepsie,  too  busy  to  listen  to  her  voluble  handmaid. 
"  Don't  I  see  them  without  your  telling  me  ?  You  'd 
better  finish  scouring  your  kitchen,  or  mama  '11  get 
after  you  when  she  comes  home." 

"Shore  'nuff,  I  'se  a-scourin',  Miss  Peps',  an'  I  'se 


LADY  JANE  67 

jes  a  dyin  tu  git  out  on  dat  banquette;  dat  banquette 
's  a-spilin'  might'  bad  ter  be  cleaned.  Let  me  do  dat 
banquette  right  now,  Miss  Peps',  an'  I 's  gwine 
scour  lak  fury  bymeby." 

"  Very  well,  Tite ;  go  and  do  the  banquette,"  re- 
turned Pepsie,  smiling  indulgently.  "  But  mind 
what  I  say  about  the  kitchen,  when  mama  comes." 

Such  an  event  as  some  one  moving  in  Good  Chil- 
dren Street  was  very  uncommon.  Pepsie  thought 
every  one  had  lived  there  since  the  flood,  and  she 
did  n't  blame  Tite  Souris  to  want  to  be  out  with  the 
other  idle  loungers  to  see  what  was  going  on,  al- 
though she  understood  the  banquette  ruse  perfectly. 

At  last  all  the  furniture  was  carried  in,  and  with  it 
two  trunks,  so  large  for  that  quarter  as  to  cause  no 
little  comment. 

"Par  exemple!"  said  Monsieur  Fernandez, 
"  what  a  size  for  a  trunk !  That  madame  yonder 
must  have  traveled  much  in  the  North.  I  've  heard 
they  use  them  there  for  ladies'  toilets." 

And,  straightway,  madame  acquired  greater  im- 
portance from  the  conclusion  that  she  had  traveled 
extensively. 

Then  the  wagon  went  away,  the  door  was  dis- 
creetly "  bowed,"  and  the  loungers  dispersed ;  but 


68  LADY  JANE 

I 
Pepsie,   from  her  coign  of  vantage,   still  watched 

every  movement  of  the  new-comers.  She  saw  Raste 
come  out  with  a  basket,  and  she  was  sure  that  he 
had  gone  to  market.  She  saw  madame  putting  up  a 
pretty  lace  curtain  at  one  window,  and  she  was 
curious  to  know  if  she  intended  to  have  a  parlor. 
Only  one  blind  was  thrown  open ;  the  other  was 
"  bowed  "  all  day,  yet  she  was  positive  that  some  one 
was  working  behind  it.  "  That  must  be  madame's 
room,"  she  thought;  "that  big  boy  will  have  the 
back  room  next  to  the  kitchen,  and  the  little  girl 
will  sleep,  with  madame,  so  the  room  on  this  side, 
with  the  pretty  curtain,  will  be  the  parlor.  I  won- 
der if  she  will  have  a  carpet,  and  a  console,  with 
vases  of  wax-flowers  on  it,  and  a  cabinet  full  of 
shells,  and  a  sofa."  This  was  Pepsie's  idea  of  a 
•parlor;  she  had  seen  a  parlor  once  long  ago,  and  it 
was  like  this. 

So  she  wondered  and  speculated  all  day ;  and  all 
day  the  pale,  sorrowful  child  sat  alone  on  the  side- 
gallery,  holding  her  bird  in  her  arms;  and  when 
night  came,  Pepsie  had  not  sugared  her  pecans, 
neither  had  she  read  her  prayers,  nor  even  played 
one  game  of  solitaire;  but  Madelon  did  not  complain 
of  her  idleness.  It  was  seldom  the  child  had  such  a 


LADY  JANE  69 

treat,  and  even  Tite  Souris  escaped  a  scolding,  in 
consideration  of  the  great  event. 

The  next  morning  Pepsie  was  awake  very  early, 
and  so  anxious  was  she  to  get  to  the  window  that  she 
could  hardly  wait  to  be  dressed.  When  she  first 
looked  across  the  street,  the  doors  and  shutters  were 
closed,  but  some  one  had  been  stirring;  and  Tite 
Souris  informed  her,  when  she  brought  her  coffee, 
that  madame  had  been  out  at  "  sun  up,"  and  had 
cleaned  and  "  bricked  "  the  banquette  her  own  self. 

"  Then  I  'm  afraid  she  is  n't  rich,"  said  Pepsie, 
"  because  if  she  was  rich,  she  'd  keep  a  servant,  and 
perhaps  after  all  she  won't  have  a  parlor." 

Presently  there  was  a  little  flutter  behind  the 
bowed  blind,  and  lo !  it  was  suddenly  flung  open,  and 
there,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  window,  hung  a  very 
tasty  gilt  frame,  surrounding  a  white  center,  on 
which  was  printed,  in  red  and  gilt  letters,  "  Blanchis- 
seuse  de  fin,  et  confections  de  toute  sorte"  and  un- 
derneath, written  in  Raste's  boldest  hand  and  best 
English,  "  Fin  Washun  dun  hear,  an  notuns  of  al 
sort,"  and  behind  the  sign  Pepsie  could  plainly  see 
a  flutter  of  laces  and  muslins,  children's  dainty  little 
frocks  and  aprons,  ladies'  collars,  cuffs,  and  neckties, 
handkerchiefs  and  sacks,  and  various  other  articles 


70  LADY  JANE 

for  feminine  use  and  adornment;  and  on  a  table, 
close  to  the  window,  were  boxes  of  spools,  bunches 
of  tape,  cards  of  buttons,  skeins  of  wool,  rolls  of 
ribbons;  in  short,  an  assortment  of  small  wares, 
which  presented  quite  an  attractive  appearance ;  and, 
hovering  about  them,  madame  could  be  discerned,  in 
her  black  skirt  and  fresh  white  sack,  while,  as  smiling 
and  self-satisfied  as  ever,  she  arranged  her  stock  to 
the  best  advantage,  and  waited  complacently  for  the 
customers  who  she  was  sure  would  come. 

For  the  first  time  since  the  death  of  the  young 
widow  in  Gretna,  she  breathed  freely,  for  she  began 
to  feel  some  security  in  her  new  possessions.  At 
last,  everything  had  turned  out  as  Raste  predicted, 
and  she  had  worked  her  plans  well.  The  young 
mother,  sleeping  in  the  Bergeron  tomb,  could  never 
testify  against  her,  and  the  child  was  too  young  to 
give  any  but  the  most  sketchy  information  about  her- 
self. She  did  not  even  know  the  name  of  her 
parents,  and  since  her  recovery  from  the  fever  she 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  a  great  deal  that  she  knew 
before.  Her  illness  had  left  her  in  a  pitiable  condi- 
tion; she  was  weak  and  dull,  and  did  not  appear  to 
care  for  anything  but  the  blue  heron,  which  was  her 
constant  companion.  Whether  she  was  conscious 


LADY  JANE  71 

of  her  great  loss,  and  was  mourning  for  her  mother, 
madame  could  not  decide.  At  first,  she  had  asked 
constantly  for  her,  and  madame  had  told  her  kindly, 
and  with  caresses,  which  were  not  returned,  that  her 
mother  had  gone  away  for  a  while,  and  had  left  her 
with  her  Tante  Pauline ;  and  that  she  must  be  a  good 
little  girl,  and  love  her  Tante  Pauline,  while  her 
mother  was  away. 

Lady  Jane  looked  at  madame's  bland  face  with 
such  solemnly  scrutinizing  eyes,  that  she  almost 
made  her  blush  for  the  falsehood  she  was  telling,  but 
said  nothing ;  her  little  thoughts  and  memories  were 
very  busy,  and  very  far  away ;  she  had  not  forgotten 
as  much  as  madame  fancied  she  had,  neither  did  she 
believe  as  much  as  madame  thought  she  did.  What- 
ever of  doubt  or  regret  passed  through  her  little 
brain,  she  made  no  sign,  but  remained  quiet  and  do- 
cile; she  never  laughed,  and  seldom  cried;  she  was 
very  little  trouble,  and  scarcely  noticed  anything  that 
was  going  on  around  her.  In  fact,  she  was  stupe- 
fied and  subdued,  by  the  sudden  misfortunes  that  had 
come  upon  her,  until  she  seemed  a  very  different  be- 
ing from  the  bright,  spirited  child  of  a  few  weeks 
before. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LADY   JANE   FINDS   A    FRIEND 

FROM  the  first,  madame  had  insisted  that  the 
stranger's  property  should  not  be  meddled  with 
until  a  certain  time  had  passed. 

"  We  must  wait,"  she  said  to  the  eager  and  im- 
pulsive Raste,  "  to  see  if  she  is  missed,  and  adver- 
tised for.  A  person  of  her  position  must  have 
friends  somewhere,  and  it  would  be  rather  bad  for 
us  if  she  was  traced  here,  and  it  was  found  out  that 
she  died  in  our  house;  we  might  even  be  suspected 
of  killing  her  to  get  her  money.  Detectives  are 
capable  of  anything,  and  it  is  n't  best  to  get  in  their 
clutches;  but  if  we  don't  touch  her  things,  they  can't 
accuse  us,  and  Dr.  Debrot  knows  she  died  of  fever, 
so  I  would  be  considered  a  kind-hearted  Christian 
woman,  and  I  'd  be  paid  well  for  all  my  trouble,  if  it 
should  come  out  that  she  died  here." 

These  arguments  had  their  weight  with  Raste, 
who,  though  thoroughly  unscrupulous,  was  careful 

72 


LADY  JANE  73 

about  getting  into  the  toils  of  the  law,  his  father's 
fate  serving  as  an  example  to  him  of  the  difficulty 
of  escaping  from  those  toils  when  they  once  close 
upon  a  victim. 

If  at  that  time  they  had  noticed  the  advertisement 
in  the  journals  signed  "  Blue  Heron,"  it  would  have 
given  them  a  terrible  fright ;  but  they  seldom  read 
the  papers,  and  before  they  thought  of  looking  for  a 
notice  of  the  missing  woman  and  child,  it  had  been 
withdrawn. 

For  several  weeks  Raste  went  regular  to  the  gro- 
cery on  the  levee,  and  searched  over  the  daily  papers 
until  his  eyes  ached ;  but  in  vain ;  among  all  the  singu- 
lar advertisements  and  "  personals,"  there  was  noth- 
ing that  referred  in  any  way  to  the  subject  that  in- 
terested him. 

Therefore,  after  some  six  weeks  had  passed, 
madame  deemed  that  it  was  safe  to  begin  to  cove'r 
her  tracks,  as  Raste  had  advised  with  more  force 
than  elegance.  The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  move 
into  another  neighborhood;  for  that  reason,  she 
selected  the  house  in  Good  Children  Street,  it  being 
as  far  away  from  her  present  residence  as  she  could 
possibly  get,  without  leaving  the  city  altogether. 

At  first  she  was  tempted  to  give  up  work,  and 


74  LADY  JANE 

live  like  a  lady  for  a  while ;  then  she  considered  that 
her  sudden  wealth  might  arouse  suspicion,  and  she 
decided  to  carry  on  her  present  business,  with  the 
addition  of  a  small  stock  of  fancy  articles  to  sell  on 
which  she  could  make  a  snug  little  profit,  and  at  the 
same  time  give  greater  importance  and  respectability 
to  her  humble  calling. 

Among  the  dead  woman's  effects  was  the  pocket- 
book,  containing  five  hundred  dollars,  which  she  had 
secreted  from  Raste.  From  the  money  in  the  travel- 
ing bag  she  had  paid  the  humble  funeral  expenses, 
and  Dr.  Debrot's  modest  bill,  and  there  still  remained 
some  for  other  demands ;  but  besides  the  money  there 
were  many  valuables,  the  silver  toilet  articles,  jew- 
elry, laces,  embroideries,  and  the  handsome  ward- 
robe of  both  mother  and  child.  In  one  of  the  trunks 
she  found  a  writing-case  full  of  letters  written  in 
English.  From  these  letters  she  could  have  learned 
all  that  it  was  necessary  to  know ;  but  she  could  not 
read  English  readily,  especially  writing;  she  was 
afraid  to  show  them,  and  she  feared  to  keep  them; 
therefore  she  thought  it  best  to  destroy  them.  So 
one  night,  when  she  was  alone,  she  burned  them  all 
in  the  kitchen  stove;  not,  however,  without  some 
misgivings  and  some  qualms  of  conscience,  for  at 


LADY  JANE  75 

the  moment  when  she  saw  them  crumbling  to  white 
ashes  the  gentle  face  of  the  dead  woman  seemed  to 
come  before  her,  and  her  blue  eyes  to  look  at  her 
sadly  and  reproachfully. 

Then  she  thought  of  Father  Ducros,  so  stern  and 
severe;  he  had  but  little  mercy  or  charity  for  those 
who  sinned  deliberately  and  wilfully,  as  she  was  do- 
ing. She  would  never  dare  to  go  to  him,  and  what 
would  become  of  her  soul?  Already  she  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  that  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is 
hard;  but  she  silenced  the  striving  of  conscience 
with  specious  arguments.  She  had  not  sought  the 
temptation, —  it  had  come  to  her,  in  the  form  of  a 
dying  woman;  she  had  done  her  best  by  her,  and 
now  the  child  was  thrown  on  her  and  must  be  cared 
for.  She  did  not  know  the  child's  name,  so  she 
could  not  restore  her  to  her  friends,  even  if  she  had 
any;  it  was  not  likely  that  she  had,  or  they  would 
have  advertised  for  her;  and  she  meant  to  be  good 
to  the  little  thing.  She  would  take  care  of  her,  and 
bring  her  up  well.  She  would  be  a  daughter  to  her. 
Surely  that  was  better  than  sending  her  to  a  home 
for  foundlings,  as  another  would  do.  In  this  way 
she  persuaded  herself  that  she  was  really  an  honest, 
charitable  woman,  who  was  doing  what  was  best 


;6  LADY  JANE 

for  the  child  by  appropriating  her  mother's  property, 
and  destroying  every  proof  of  her  identity. 

From  the  child's  wardrobe  she  selected  the  plain- 
est and  most  useful  articles  for  daily  wear,  laying 
aside  the  finest  and  daintiest  to  dispose  of  as  her 
business  might  offer  opportunity;  and  from  the 
mother's  clothes  she  also  made  a  selection,  taking 
for  her  own  use  what  she  considered  plain  enough  to 
wear  with  propriety,  while  the  beautiful  linen,  fine 
laces,  and  pretty  little  trifles  went  a  long  way  in 
furnishing  her  show-window  handsomely. 

Notwithstanding  her  assurance,  she  felt  some  mis- 
givings when  she  placed  those  pretty,  dainty  articles 
in  the  broad  light  of  day  before  an  observing  public, 
—  and  not  only  the  public  terrified  her,  but  the  child 
also;  suppose  she  should  recognize  her  mother's 
property,  and  make  a  scene.  Therefore  it  was  with 
no  little  anxiety  that  she  waited  the  first  morning  for 
Lady  Jane's  appearance  in  the  little  shop. 

After  a  while  she  came  in,  heavy-edged,  pale,  list- 
less, and  carelessly  dressed,  her  long  silken  hair  un- 
combed, her  little  feet  and  legs  bare,  and  her  whole 
manner  that  of  a  sorrowful,  neglected  child.  She 
carried  her  bird  in  her  arms,  as  usual,  and  was  pass- 


LADY  JANE  77 

ing  out  of  the  side-door  to  the  little  yard,  without 
as  much  as  a  glance,  when  madame,  who  was  watch- 
ing her  furtively,  said  to  her  in  rather  a  fretful  tone : 

"  Come  here,  child,  and  let  me  button  your  clothes. 
And  you  have  n't  brushed  your  hair ;  now  this  won't 
do;  you're  old  enough  to  dress  yourself,  and  you 
must  do  it ;  I  can't  wait  on  you  every  minute,  I  've 
got  something  else  to  do."  Then  she  asked  in  a 
softer  tone,  while  she  smoothed  the  golden  hair, 
"  See  my  pretty  window.  Don't  you  think  it  looks 
very  handsome?  " 

Lady  Jane  turned  her  heavy  eyes  toward  the  laces 
and  fluttering  things  above  her,  then  they  slowly  fell 
to  the  table,  and  suddenly,  with  a  piercing  cry,  she 
seized  a  little  jewel-box,  an  odd,  pretty  silver  trinket 
that  madame  had  displayed  among  her  small  wares, 
and  exclaimed  passionately  :  "  That 's  my  mama's ; 
it 's  mama's,  and  you  sha'n't  have  it,"  and  turning, 
she  rushed  into  madame's  room,  leaving  Tony  to 
flutter  from  her  arms,  while  she  held  the  little  box 
tightly  clasped  to  her  bosom. 

Madame  did  not  notice  her  outbreak,  neither  did 
she  attempt  to  take  the  box  from  her,  so  she  carried 
it  about  with  her  all  day ;  but  at  night,  after  the  little 


78  LADY  JANE 

one  had  fallen  asleep,  madame  unclosed  the  fingers 
that  still  clung  to  it,  and  without  a  pang  consigned 
it  to  obscurity. 

"  I  must  n't  let  her  see  that  again,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  Dear  me,  what  should  I  do,  if  she  should 
act  like  that  before  a  customer?  I  '11  never  feel  safe 
until  everything  is  sold,  and  out  of  the  way." 

"Well,  I  declare,  if  that  isn't  the  fifth  customer 
Madame  Jozain  has  had  this  morning,"  said  Pepsie 
to  Tite  Souris,  a  few  days  after  the  new  arrival. 
"  She  must  be  doing  a  good  business,  for  they  all 
buy;  at  least  they  all  come  out  with  paper  parcels." 

"  An'  jes'  see  dem  chil'ren  crowd  'roun'  dat  do. 
Lor',  dey  doant  cum  ter  yer  winner  eny  mo',  Miss 
Peps',"  said  Tite,  with  an  accent  of  disgust,  as  she 
brushed  the  pecan-shells  from  Pepsie's  table.  "  Dey 
jes  stan'  ober  dar  ter  git  a  glimge  uv  dat  dar  goslin' 
de  littl'  gal  holes  all  day.  Po  chile !  she  might'  lun- 
sum,  setten  dar  all  'lone." 

"  Tite,  oh,  Tite,  can't  you  coax  her  across  the 
street?  I  want  to  see  her  near,"  cried  Pepsie 
eagerly;  "  I  want  to  see  what  kind  of  a  bird  that  is." 

"  Dem  chil'ren  say  how  it 's  a  herin'.  I  doant 
believe  dat  —  hit  ain't  no  ways  lak  dem  herin's  in 


LADY  JANE  79 

de  sto,  what  dey  has  in  pickl'.  Sho!  dat  ain't  no 
herin',  hit 's  a  goslin' ;  I  'se  done  see  goslin's  on  de 
plantashun,  an'  hit 's  a  goslin',  shore  miff." 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  for  myself,  Tite.  Go  there 
to  the  fence,  and  ask  her  to  come  here ;  tell  her  I  '11 
give  her  some  pecans." 

Tite  went  on  her  mission,  and  lingered  so  long, 
staring  with  the  others,  that  her  mistress  had  to  call 
her  back.  She  returned  alone.  Lady  Jane  declined 
to  accept  the  invitation. 

"  'T  ain't  no  use,"  said  Tite  energetically.  "  She 
wunt  cum.  She  on'  hugs  dat  dar  long-legged  bird, 
an'  looks  at  yer  solum,  lak  a  owel;  't  ain't  no  use, 
she  wunt  cum.  She  might'  stuck  up,  Miss  Peps'. 
She  say  she  doan't  want  peccuns.  Ain't  dat  cur'ous  ? 
Oh,  Lor,  doan't  want  peccuns!  Well,  white  chil'ren 
is  der  beatenes'  chil'ren !  "  and  Tite  went  to  her 
work,  muttering  her  surprise  at  the  "  cur-ousness  " 
of  white  children  in  general,  and  Lady  Jane  in  par- 
ticular. 

All  day  long  Pepsie  watched,  hoping  that  the  little 
girl  might  change  her  mind,  and  decide  to  be  more 
neighborly ;  but  she  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 
Near  night,  feeling  that  it  was  useless  to  hope,  and 
noticing  that  madame's  customers  were  dropping  off, 


8o  LADY  JANE 

she    sought    consolation    in    a    game    of    solitaire. 

Just  as  she  was  at  the  most  exciting  point,  a  slight 
rustling  sound  attracted  her  attention,  and,  looking 
up,  she  saw  a  little  figure  in  a  soiled  white  frock, 
with  long  yellow  hair  falling  over  her  shoulders,  and 
a  thick,  neglected  bang  almost  touching  her  eye- 
brows. The  little  face  was  pale  and  sorrowful;  but 
a  faint  smile  dimpled  the  lips,  and  the  eyes  were 
bright  and  earnest.  Lady  Jane  was  holding  the  bird 
up  in  both  hands  over  the  iron  railing,  and  when  she 
caught  Pepsie's  surprised  glance  she  said  very  po- 
litely and  very  sweetly : 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  Tony  ?  " 

And  that  was  the  way  in  which  Lady  Jane  and 
Pepsie  first  became  acquainted. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   FIRST   VISIT   TO   PEPSIE 

WHEN  Pepsie  first  looked  at  Lady  Jane,  stand- 
ing before  her  holding  up  the  bird,  with  the 
light  of  the  sunset  on  her  yellow  hair,  and  her  lips 
parted  in  a  smile  that  made  even  the  solemn  eyes 
bright,  she  felt  as  if  she  saw  a  visitor  from  another 
world. 

For  a  moment,  she  could  only  look  at  her;  then 
she  found  voice  to  say : 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  n't  come.  Tite  said  you 
would  n't.  We  looked  for  you  all  day." 

"  I  came  to  show  Tony  to  you  before  I  go  to  bed. 
I  '11  hold  him  so  you  can  see  him."  And  Lady  Jane 
stretched  up  on  the  tips  of  her  little  white  toes  to 
reach  the  bird  above  the  railing. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  I  '11  have  Tite  open  the  door 
for  you.  Won't  you  come  in?  " 

Tite,  who  heard  Pepsie  talking,  was  peeping 
through  the  kitchen-door,  and  in  an  instant  she  had 
pushed  the  bolt  aside,  and  Lady  Jane  stood  in  the 

81 


82  LADY  JANE 

little  room,  and  was  looking  around  her  with  pleased 
surprise. 

"  Why,  how  nice !  "  she  said,  with  a  little  sigh  of 
content ;  "  I  'm  glad  I  came.  Have  you  got  a 
kitty?" 

"A  kitty?  you  mean  a  little  cat?"  asked  Pepsie, 
her  face  one  broad  smile  over  the  child  and  bird. 
"  No,  I  have  n't  one,  and  I  'm  sorry." 

Lady  Jane  had  dropped  Tony  on  the  floor,  hold- 
ing him  with  a  long  string  fastened  to  the  leather 
band  on  his  leg,  while  she  looked  over  Pepsie's  little, 
distorted  figure  with  mingled  curiosity  and  pity. 

In  the  mean  time,  Pepsie  and  Tite  were  watching 
the  bird  with  the  closest  attention,  while  he  hopped 
about,  not  very  gracefully,  picking  grains  of  brick- 
dust  from  the  cracks  of  the  floor. 

At  last  Tite,  unable  to  control  her  wonder  and  ad- 
miration, broke  forth : 

"  Miss  Peps',  jes  look  at  he.  Ain't  he  the  cur'ous- 
est  bird  y'  ever  seed  ?  An'  he  ain't  no  goslin',  shore 
nuff ;  jes  look  at  he  tail  f eaders ;  jes  lak  dem  f eaders 
on  Mam'selle  Marie's  hat." 

"  And  he  knows  when  I  speak  to  him,"  said  Lady 
Jane,  lifting  her  lovely  eyes  to  Pepsie.  "  Now  I  '11 
call  him,  and  you  '11  see  him  come." 


LADY  JANE  83 

Then  she  chirruped  softly,  and  called  "  Tony, 
Tony."  The  bird  turned  his  bright  eyes  on  her, 
and  with  a  fluttering  run  he  hurried  to  her. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  cried  Pepsie,  quite  overcome  with  sur- 
prise. "  Is  n't  he  knowing !  I  never  saw  such  a 
bird.  Is  he  a  wild  bird  ?  " 

"  No,  he 's  very  tame,  or  he  'd  fly  away,"  replied 
Lady  Jane,  looking  at  him  fondly.  "  He  's  a  blue 
heron;  no  one  has  a  bird  like  him." 

"A  blue  heron!"  repeated  Pepsie  wonderingly. 
"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  bird." 

"  Did  n't  I  done  tole  yer  dem  chil'ren  say  he  a 
herin',  an'  he  ain't  no  herin'  ?  "  interrupted  Tite,  de- 
termined to  support  her  assertion  as  to  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  difference  between  fish  and  fowl.  "  I 
tole  yer,  Miss  Peps',  how  herin  's  fish,  an'  he  a  bird, 
shore  miff."  And,  unable  to  repress  her  mirth  at 
the  oddity  of  the  name,  she  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  of 
derision. 

Lady  Jane  looked  hurt  and  surprised,  and,  stoop- 
ing for  Tony,  she  gathered  him  up  and  turned  to- 
ward the  door. 

"  Oh,  don't  go,  please  don't !  "  pleaded  Pepsie. 
;<  Tite,  stop  laughing,  and  put  a  chair  for  the  little 
girl,  and  then  go  to  your  work." 


84  LADY  JANE 

Tite  obeyed  reluctantly,  with  many  a  grin  and 
backward  look,  and  Lady  Jane,  after  lingering  a 
moment  at  the  door,  shy  and  undecided,  put  Tony 
down  again,  and  climbed  into  the  chair  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  table. 

"  Now  that  darky  's  gone,"  said  Pepsie,  with  a 
gaiety  that  was  reassuring,  "  we  can  talk  sense.  Do 
you  understand  me,  everything  I  say?  You  know 
I  don't  speak  English  very  well." 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  answered  Lady  Jane;  "  I  know  what 
you  say,  and  I  like  you." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Pepsie  brightly,  "  be- 
cause I  've  been  just  crazy  to  have  you  come  over 
here.  Now  tell  me,  is  Madame  Jozain  your  aunt 
or  your  grandma  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  's  my  Tante  Pauline ;  that 's  all,"  re- 
plied the  child  indifferently. 

"Do  you  love  her  dearly?*"  asked  Pepsie,  who 
was  something  of  a  little  diplomat. 
\  "  No,  I  don't  love  her,"  said  Lady  Jane  decidedly. 

"  Oh  my !     Why,  is  n't  she  good  to  you  ?  M 

Lady  Jane  made  no  reply,  but  looked  wistfully  at 
Pepsie,  as  if  she  would  rather  not  express  her  opin- 
ion on  the  subject. 


LADY  JANE  85 

"  Well,  never  mind.  I  guess  she  's  kind  to  you, 
only  perhaps  you  miss  your  ma.  Has  she  gone 
away  ?  "  And  Pepsie  lowered  her  voice  and  spoke 
very  softly ;  she  felt  that  she  was  treading  on  delicate 
ground,  but  she  so  wanted  to  know  all  about  the 
dear  little  thing,  not  so  much  from  curiosity  as  from 
the  interest  she  felt  in  her. 

Lady  Jane  did  not  reply,  and  Pepsie  again  asked 
very  gently : 

"  Has  your  mama  gone  away  ?  " 

"  Tante  Pauline  says  so,"  replied  the  child,  as  the 
woe-begone  expression  settled  on  her  little  face  again. 
"  She  says  mama  's  gone  away,  and  that  she  '11  come 
back.  I  think  she  's  gone  to  heaven  to  see  papa. 
You  know  papa  went  to  heaven  before  we  left  the 
ranch  —  and  mama  got  tired  waiting  for  him  to 
come  back,  and  so  she  's  gone  to  see  him;  but  I  wish 
she  'd  taken  me  with  her.  I  want  to  see  papa  too, 
and  I  don't  like  to  wait  so  long." 

The  soft,  serious  little  voice  fell  to  a  sigh,  and 
she  looked  solemnly  out  of  the  window  at  the  strip 
of  sunset  sky  over  Madame  Jozain's  house. 

Pepsie's  great  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  turned 
away  her  head  to  hide  them. 


86  LADY  JANE 

"Heaven's  somewhere  up  there,  isn't  it?"  she 
continued,  pointing  upward.  "  Every  night  when 
the  stars  come  out,  I  watch  to  see  if  papa  and  mama 
are  looking  at  me.  I  think  they  like  to  stay  up 
there,  and  don't  want  to  come  back,  and  perhaps 
they  've  forgotten  all  about  Lady  Jane." 

"  Lady  Jane,  is  that  your  name  ?  Why,  how 
pretty !  "  said  Pepsie,  trying  to  speak  brightly ;  "  and 
what  a  little  darling  you  are!  I  don't  think  any 
one  would  ever  forget  you,  much  less  your  papa  and 
mama.  Don't  get  tired  waiting ;  you  're  sure  to  see 
them  again,  and  you  need  n't  to  be  lonesome,  sit- 
ting there  on  the  gallery  every  day  alone.  While 
your  aunt 's  busy  with  her  customers,  you  can  come 
over  here  with  your  bird,  and  sit  with  me.  I  '11 
show  you  how  to  shell  pecans  and  sugar  them,  and 
I  '11  read  some  pretty  stories  to  you.  And  oh,  I  '11 
teach  you  to  play  solitaire." 

"  What  is  solitaire  ?  "  asked  Lady  Jane,  brighten- 
ing visibly. 

"  It 's  a  game  of  cards,"  and  Pepsie  nodded  to- 
ward the  table ;  "  I  was  playing  when  you  came. 
It 's  very  amusing.  Now  tell  me  about  your  bird. 
Where  did  you  get  him  ?  " 


LADY  JANE  87 

"  A  boy  gave  him  to  me  —  a  nice  boy.  It  was 
on  the  cars,  and  mama  said  I  could  have  him;  that 
was  before  mama's  dear  head  ached  so.  It  ached 
so,  she  could  n't  speak  afterward." 

"And  haven't  you  a  doll?"  interrupted  Pepsie, 
seeing  that  the  child  was  approaching  dangerous 
ground. 

"  A  doll  ?  Oh  yes,  I  've  got  ever  so  many  at  the 
ranch ;  but  I  have  n't  any  here.  Tante  Pauline 
promised  me  one,  but  she  has  n't  got  it  yet." 

"  Well,  never  mind ;  I  '11  make  you  one ;  I  make 
lovely  dolls  for  my  little  cousins,  the  Paichoux.  I 
must  tell  you  about  the  Paichoux.  There  is  Uncle 
Paichoux,  and  Tante  Modeste,  and  Marie,  the  eldest, 
—  she  has  taken  her  first  communion,  and  goes  to 
balls, —  and  then  there  is  Tiburce,  a  big  boy,  and 
Sophie  and  Nanette,  and  a  lot  of  little  ones,  all  good, 
pleasant  children,  so  healthy  and  so  happy.  Uncle 
Paichoux  is  a  dairyman;  they  live  on  Frenchman 
Street,  way,  way  down  where  it  is  like  the  country, 
and  they  have  a  big  house,  a  great  deal  larger  than 
any  house  in  this  neighborhood,  with  a  garden,  and 
figs  and  peaches,  and  lovely  pomegranates  that  burst 
open  when  they  are  ripe,  and  Marie  has  roses  and 


88  LADY  JANE 

crape  myrtle  and  jasmine.  It  is  lovely  there  —  just 
lovely.  I  went  there  once,  long  ago,  before  my  back 
hurt  me  so  much." 

"Does  your  back  hurt  you  now?"  interrupted 
Lady  Jane,  diverted  from  the  charming  description 
of  the  Paichoux  home  by  sudden  sympathy  for  the 
speaker. 

"  Yes,  sometimes ;  you  see  how  crooked  it  is.  It 's 
all  grown  out,  and  I  can't  bear  to  be  jolted ;  that 's 
why  I  never  go  anywhere;  besides,  I  can't  walk," 
added  Pepsie,  feeling  a  secret  satisfaction  in  enumer- 
ating her  ills.  "  But  it 's  my  back ;  my  back  's  the 
worst." 

"  What  ails  it?  "  asked  Lady  Jane,  with  the  deep- 
est sympathy  in  her  grave  little  voice. 

"  I  've  got  a  spine  in  my  back,  and  the  doctor  says 
I  '11  never  get  over  it.  It 's  something  when  you 
once  get  it  that  you  can't  be  cured  of,  and  it 's 
mighty  bad ;  but  I  've  got  used  to  it  now,"  and  she 
smiled  at  Lady  Jane;  a  smile  full  of  patience  and 
resignation.  "  I  was  n't  always  so  bad,"  she  went 
on  cheerfully,  "  before  papa  died.  You  see  papa 
was  a  fireman,  and  he  was  killed  in  a  fire  when  I 
was  very  small;  but  before  that  he  used  to  take  me 
out  in  his  arms,  and  sometimes  I  used  to  go  out  in 


LADY  JANE  89 

Xante  Modeste's  milk-cart  —  such  a  pretty  cart, 
painted  red,  and  set  up  on  two  high  wheels,  and  in 
front  there  are  two  great  cans,  as  tall  as  you  are, 
and  they  shine  like  silver,  and  little  measures  hang 
on  the  spouts  where  the  milk  comes  out,  and  over  the 
seat  is  a  top  just  like  a  buggy  top,  which  they  put 
up  when  the  sun  is  too  hot,  or  it  rains.  Oh,  it 's 
just  beautiful  to  sit  up  on  that  high  seat,  and  go  like 
the  wind !  I  remember  how  it  felt  on  my  face,"  and 
Pepsie  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes  in  ecstasy, 
"  and  then  the  milk !  When  I  was  thirsty,  Tante 
Modeste  would  give  me  a  cup  of  milk  out  of  the  big 
can,  and  it  was  so  sweet  and  fresh.  Some  day  I  'm 
sure  she  '11  take  you,  and  then  you  '11  know  how  it 
all  was;  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  go  again,  be- 
cause I  can't  bear  the  jolting ;  and  besides,"  said  Pep- 
sie, with  a  very  broad  smile  of  satisfaction,  "  I  'm 
so  well  off  here ;  I  can  see  everything,  and  everybody, 
so  I  don't  mind ;  and  then  I  've  been  once,  and  know 
just  what  it 's  like  to  go  fast  with  the  wind  in  my 
face." 

"  I  used  to  ride  on  my  pony  with  papa,"  began 
Lady  Jane,  her  memory  of  the  past  awakened  by  the 
description  of  Pepsie's  drive.  "  My  pony  was 
named  Sunflower,  now  I  remember,"  and  her  little 


90  LADY  JANE 

face  grew  radiant,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy; 
"  papa  used  to  put  me  on  Sunflower,  and  mama  was 
afraid  I  'd  fall."  Then  the  brief  glow  faded  out  of 
her  face,  for  she  heard  Madame  Jozain  call  across 
the  street,  "  Lady !  Lady !  Come,  child,  come. 
It 's  nearly  dark,  and  time  you  were  in  bed." 

With  touching  docility,  and  without  the  least  hesi- 
tation, she  gathered  up  Tony,  who  was  standing  on 
one  leg  under  her  chair,  and,  holding  up  her  face 
for  Pepsie  to  kiss,  she  said  good-by. 

"  And  you  '11  come  again  in  the  morning,"  cried 
Pepsie,  hugging  her  fondly ;  "  you  '11  be  sure  to 
come  in  the  morning." 

And  Lady  Jane  said  yes. 


CHAPTER  X 

LADY   JANE   FINDS   OTHER   FRIENDS 

THUS  Lady  Jane's  new  life,  in  the  quaint  old 
Rue  des  Bons  En f ants,  began  under  quite 
pleasant  auspices.  From  the  moment  that  Pepsie, 
with  a  silent  but  not  unrecorded  vow,  constituted 
herself  the  champion  and  guardian  angel  of  the 
lonely  little  stranger,  she  was  surrounded  by  friends, 
and  hedged  in  with  the  most  loyal  affection. 

Because  Pepsie  loved  the  child,  the  good  Made- 
Ion  loved  her  also,  and  although  she  saw  her  but 
seldom,  being  obliged  to  leave  home  early  and  return 
late,  she  usually  left  her  some  substantial  token  of 
good  will,  in  the  shape  of  cakes  or  pralines,  or  some 
odd  little  toy  that  she  picked  up  on  Bourbon  Street 
on  her  way  to  and  from  her  stand. 

Madelon  was  a  pleasant-faced,  handsome  woman, 
always  clean  and  always  cheery ;  no  matter  how  hard 
the  day  had  been  for  her,  whether  hot  or  cold,  rainy 
or  dusty,  she  returned  home  at  night  as  fresh  and 

91 


92  LADY  JANE 

cheerful  as  when  she  went  out  in  the  morning.  Pep- 
sie  adored  her  mother,  and  no  two  human  beings 
were  ever  happier  than  they  when  the  day's  work 
was  over,  and  they  sat  down  together  to  their  little 
supper. 

Then  Pepsie  recounted  to  her  mother  everything 
that  had  happened  during  the  day,  or  at  least  every- 
thing that  had  come  within  her  line  of  vision  as  she 
sat  at  her  window;  and  Madelon  in  turn  would  tell 
her  of  all  she  had  heard  out  in  her  world,  the  world 
of  the  .Rue  Bourbon,  and  after  the  advent  of  Lady 
Jane  the  child  was  a  constant  theme  of  conversation 
between  them.  Her  beauty,  her  intelligence,  her 
pretty  manners,  her  charming  little  ways  were  a  con- 
tinual wonder  to  the  homely  woman  and  girl,  who 
had  seen  little  beyond  their  own  sphere  of  life. 

If  Madelon  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  home 
early,  she  always  found  Lady  Jane  with  Pepsie,  and 
the  loving  way  with  which  the  child  would  spring  to 
meet  her,  clinging  to  her  neck  and  nestling  to  her 
broad  motherly  bosom,  showed  how  deeply  she 
needed  the  maternal  affection  so  freely  lavished  upon 
her. 

At  first  Madame  Jozain  affected  to  be  a  little 
averse  to  such  a  close  intimacy,  and  even  went  so 


LADY  JANE  93 

far  as  to  say  to  Madame  Fernandez>  the  tobacco- 
nist's wife,  who  sat  all  day  with  her  husband  in  his 
little  shop  rolling  cigarettes  and  selling  lottery  tick- 
ets, that  she  did  not  like  her  niece  to  be  much  with  the 
lame  girl  opposite,  whose  mother  was  called  "  Bonne 
Praline."  Perhaps  they  were  honest  people,  and 
would  do  the  child  no  harm ;  but  a  woman  who  was 
never  called  madame,  and  who  sat  all  day  on  the  Rue 
Bourbon,  was  likely  to  have  the  manners  of  the 
streets.  And  Lady  Jane  had  never  been  thrown 
with  such  people;  she  had  been  raised  very  carefully, 
and  she  did  n't  want  her  to  lose  her  pretty  manners. 

Madame  Fernandez  agreed  that  Madelon  was  not 
over-refined,  and  that  Pepsie  lacked  the  accomplish- 
ments of  a  young  lady.  "  But  they  are  very  hon- 
est," she  said,  "  and  the  girl  has  a  generous  heart, 
and  is  so  patient  and  cheerful ;  besides,  Madelon  has 
a  sister  who  is  rich.  Monsieur  Paichoux,  her  sis- 
ter's husband,  is  very  well  off,  a  solid  man,  with  a 
large  dairy  business ;  and  their  daughter  Marie,  who 
just  graduated  at  the  Sacred  Heart,  is  very  pretty, 
and  is  fiancee  to  a  young  man  of  superior  family,  a 
son  of  Judge  Guiot,  and  you  know  who  the  Guiots 
are." 

Yes,  madame  knew.     Her   father,   Pierre  Ber- 


94  LADY  JANE 

geron,  and  Judge  Guiot  had  always  been  friends,  and 
the  families  had  visited  in  other  days.  If  that  was 
the  case,  the  Paichoux  must  be  very  respectable ;  and 
if  "  Bonne  Praline  "  was  the  sister-in-law  of  a  Paich- 
oux, and  prospective  aunt-in-law  to  the  son  of  a 
judge,  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  keep  the 
child  away;  therefore  she  allowed  her  to  go  when- 
ever she  wished,  which  was  from  the  time  she  was 
out  of  bed  in  the  morning  until  it  was  quite  dark  at 
night. 

Lady  Jane  shared  Pepsie's  meals,  and  sat  at  the 
table,  with  her,  learning  to  crack  and  shell  pecans 
with  such  wonderful  facility  that  Pepsie's  task  was 
accomplished  some  hours  sooner,  therefore  she  had 
a  good  deal  of  time  each  day  to  devote  to  her  little 
friend.  And  it  was  very  amusing  to  witness  Pep- 
sie's motherly  care  for  the  child.  She  bathed  her, 
and  brushed  her  long  silken  hair;  she  trimmed  her 
bang  to  the  most  becoming  length;  she  dressed  her 
with  the  greatest  taste,  and  tied  her  sash  with  the 
chic  of  a  French  milliner;  she  examined  the  little 
pink  nails  and  pearls  of  teeth  to  see  if  they  were 
perfectly  clean,  and  she  joined  with  Lady  Jane  in 
rebelling  against  madame's  decree  that  the  child 
should  go  barefoot  while  the  weather  was  warm. 


LADY  JANE  95 

"  All  the  little  Creoles  did,  and  she  was  not  going  to 
buy  shoes  for  the  child  to  knock  out  every  day." 
Therefore,  when  her  shoes  were  worn,  Madelon 
bought  her  a  neat  little  pair  on  the  Rue  Bourbon,  and 
Pepsie  darned  her  stockings  and  sewed  on  buttons 
and  strings  with  the  most  exemplary  patience. 
When  madame  complained  that,  with  all  the  busi- 
ness she  had  to  attend  to,  the  white  frocks  were  too 
much  trouble  and  expense  to  keep  clean,  Tite  Sour  is, 
who  was  a  fair  laundress,  begged  that  she  might  be 
allowed  to  wash  them,  which  she  did  with  such  good- 
will that  Lady  Jane  was  always  neat  and  dainty. 

Gradually  the  sorrowful,  neglected  look  disap- 
peared from  her  small  face,  and  she  became  rosy  and 
dimpled  again,  and  as  contented  and  happy  a  child 
as  ever  was  seen  in  Good  Children  Street.  Every 
one  in  the  neighborhood  knew  her;  the  gracious, 
beautiful  little  creature,  with  her  blue  heron,  became 
one  of  the  sights  of  the  quarter.  She  was  a  picture 
and  a  poem  in  one  to  the  homely,  good-natured  Cre- 
oles, and  everywhere  she  went  she  carried  sunshine 
with  her. 

Little  Gex,  a  tiny,  shrunken,  bent  Frenchman,  who 
kept  a  small  fruit  and  vegetable  stall  just  above  Mad- 
elon's,  felt  that  the  day  had  been  dark  indeed  when 


96  LADY  JANE 

Lady  Jane's  radiant  little  face  did  not  illumine  his 
dingy  quarters.  How  his  old,  dull  eyes  would 
brighten  when  he  heard  her  cheery  voice,  "  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Gex;  Tante  Pauline" — or  Pepsie,  as 
the  case  might  be  — "  would  like  a  nickel  of  apples, 
onions,  or  carrots  " ;  and  the  orange  that  was  always 
given  her  for  lagniappe  was  received  with  a  charm- 
ing smile,  and  a  "  Thank  you,"  that  went  straight  to 
the  old,  withered  heart. 

Gex  was  a  quiet,  polite  little  man,  who  seldom 
held  any  conversation  with  his  customers  beyond  the 
simple  requirements  of  his  business ;  and  children,  as 
a  general  thing,  he  detested,  for  the  reason  that  the 
ill-bred  little  imps  in  the  neighborhood  made  him  the 
butt  of  their  mischievous  ridicule,  for  his  appearance 
was  droll  in  the  extreme:  his  small  face  was  desti- 
tute of  beard  and  as  wrinkled  as  a  withered  apple, 
and  he  usually  wore  a  red  handkerchief  tied  over  his 
bald  head  with  the  ends  hanging  under  his  chin ;  his 
dress  consisted  of  rather  short  and  very  wide  trous- 
ers, a  little  jacket,  and  an  apron  that  reached  nearly 
to  his  feet.  This  very  quaint  costume  gave  him  a 
nondescript  appearance,  which  excited  the  mirth  of 
the  juvenile  population  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
did  not  always  restrain  it  within  proper  bounds. 


MR.  GEX   AT  THE  DOOR  OF   HIS   SHOP 


LADY  JANE  97 

Therefore  it  was  very  seldom  that  a  child  entered 
his  den,  and  such  a  thing  as  one  receiving  lagniappe 
was  quite  unheard  of. 

All  day  long  he  sat  on  his  small  wooden  chair  be- 
hind the  shelf  across  his  window,  on  which  was  laid 
in  neat  piles  oranges,  apples,  sweet  potatoes,  onions, 
cabbages,  and  even  the  odorous  garlic ;  they  were  al- 
ways sound  and  clean,  and  for  that  reason,  even  if 
he  did  not  give  lagniappe  to  small  customers,  he  had 
a  fair  trade  in  the  neighborhood.  And  he  was  very 
neat  and  industrious.  When  he  was  not  engaged  in 
preparing' his  vegetables,  he  was  always  tinkering  at 
something  of  interest  to  himself;  he  could  mend 
china  and  glass,  clocks  and  jewelry,  shoes  and  shirts ; 
he  washed .  and  patched  his  own  wardrobe,  and 
darned  his  own  stockings.  Often  when  a  customer 
came  in  he  would  push  his  spectacles  upon  his  fore- 
head, lay  down  his  stocking  and  needle,  and  deal 
out  his  cabbage  and  carrots  as  unconcernedly  as  if 
he  had  been  engaged  in  a  more  manly  occupation. 

From  some  of  the  dingy  corners  of  his  den  he  had 
unearthed  an  old  chair,  very  stiff  and  high,  and  en- 
tirely destitute  of  a  bottom ;  this  he  cleaned  and  re- 
paired by  nailing  across  the  frame  an  orange-box 
cover  decorated  with  a  very  bright  picture,  and  one 


98  LADY  JANE 

day  he  charmed  Lady  Jane  by  asking  her  to  sit  down 
and  eat  her  orange  while  he  mended  his  jacket. 

She  declined  eating  her  orange,  as  she  always 
shared  it  with  Pepsie,  but  accepted  the  invitation  to 
be  seated.  Placing  Tony  to  forage  on  a  basket  of 
refuse  vegetables,  she  climbed  into  the  chair,  placed 
her  little  heels  on  the  topmost  rung,  smoothed  down 
her  short  skirt,  and,  resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees, 
leaned  her  rosy  little  cheeks  on  her  palms,  and  set 
herself  to  studying  Gex  seriously  and  critically.  At 
length,  her  curiosity  overcoming  her  diffidence,  she 
said  in  a  very  polite  tone,  but  with  a  little  hesita- 
tion :  "  Mr.  Gex,  are  you  a  man  or  a  woman  ?  " 

Gex,  for  the  moment,  was  fairly  startled  out  of 
himself,  and,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  years,  he 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  heartily. 

"  Bon!  bon!  'T  is  good ; 't  is  vairy  good.  Vhy, 
my  leetle  lady,  sometime  I  don't  know  myself ;  'cause, 
you  see,  I  have  to  be  both  the  man  and  the  voman; 
but  vhy  in  the  vorld  did  you  just  ask  me  such  a 
funny  question?  " 

"  Because,  Mr.  Gex,"  replied  Lady  Jane,  very 
gravely,  "  I  've  thought  about  it  often.  Because  — 
men  don't  sew,  and  wear  aprons, —  and  —  women 


LADY  JANE  99 

don't  wear  trousers ;  so,  you  see,  I  could  n't  tell 
which  you  were." 

"  Oh,  my  foil  "  and  again  Gex  roared  with  laugh- 
ter until  a  neighbor,  who  was  passing,  thought  he 
had  gone  crazy,  and  stopped  to  look  at  him  with 
wonder;  but  she  only  saw  him  leaning  back,  laugh- 
ing with  all  his  might,  while  Lady  Jane  sat  looking 
at  him  with  a  frowning,  flushed  face,  as  if  she  was 
disgusted  at  his  levity. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  laugh  so,"  she  said  loftily, 
straightening  up  in  her  chair,  and  regarding  Gex  as 
if  he  had  disappointed  her.  "  I  think  it 's  very  bad 
for  you  to  have  no  one  to  mend  your  clothes,  and  — 
and  to  have  to  sew  like  a  woman,  if  —  if  you  're  a 
man." 

"  Vhy,  bless  your  leetle  heart,  so  it  is ;  but  you  see 
I  am  just  one  poor,  lonely  creature,  and  it  don't  make 
much  difference  vhether  I'm  one  or  t'  other;  no- 
body cares  now." 

"  I  do,"  returned  Lady  Jane  brightly ;  "  and  I  'm 
glad  I  know,  because,  when  Pepsie  teaches  me  to  sew, 
/  'm  going  to  mend  your  clothes,  Mr.  Gex." 

"  Veil,  you  are  one  leetle  angel,"  exclaimed  Gex, 
quite  overcome.  "  Here,  take  another  orange." 


ioo  LADY  JANE 

» 

"  Oh,  no ;  thank  you.  I  've  only  bought  one 
thing,  and  I  can't  take  two  lagniappes;  that  would  be 
wrong.  But  I  must  go  now." 

And,  jumping  down,  she  took  Tony  from  his  com- 
fortable nest  among  the  cabbage-leaves,  and  with  a 
polite  good-by  she  darted  out,  leaving  the  dingy 
little  shop  darker  for  her  going. 

For  a  long  time  after  she  went  Gex  sat  looking 
thoughtfully  at  his  needlework.  Then  he  sighed 
heavily,  and  muttered  to  himself:  "If  Marie  had 
lived!  If  she  'd  lived,  I  'd  been  more  of  a  man." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   VISIT    TO   THE   PAICHOUX 

ONE  bright  morning  in  October,  while  Pepsie 
and  Lady  Jane  were  very  busy  over  their  pe- 
cans, there  was  a  sudden  rattling  of  wheels  and 
jingling  of  cans,  and  Tante  Modeste's  milk-cart,  gay 
in  a  fresh  coat  of  red  paint,  with  the  shining  cans, 
and  smart  little  mule  in  a  bright  harness,  drew  up  be- 
fore the  door,  and  Tante  Modeste  herself  jumped 
briskly  down  from  the  high  seat,  and  entered  like  a 
fresh  breath  of  spring. 

She  and  Madelon  were  twin  sisters,  and  very 
much  alike;  the  same  large,  fair  face,  the  same 
smooth,  dark  hair  combed  straight  back  from  the 
forehead,  and  twisted  in  a  glossy  knot  at  the  back, 
and  like  Madelon  she  wore  a  stiffly  starched,  light 
calico  gown,  finished  at  the  neck  with  a  muslin  scarf 
tied  in  a  large  bow;  her  head  was  bare,  and  in  her 
ears  she  wore  gold  hoops,  and  around  her  neck  was 
a  heavy  chain  of  the  same  precious  metal. 

101 


102  LADY  JANE 

When  Pepsie  saw  her  she  held  out  her  arms, 
flushing  with  pleasure,  and  cried  joyfully :  "  Oh, 
Tante  Modeste,  how  glad  I  am !  I  thought  you  'd 
forgotten  to  come  for  Lady  Jane." 

Tante  Modeste  embraced  her  niece  warmly,  and 
then  caught  Lady  Jane  to  her  heart  just  as  Madelon 
did.  "Forgotten  her?  Oh,  no;  I've  thought  of 
her  all  the  time  since  I  was  here ;  but  I  've  been  so 
busy." 

"What  about,  Tante  Modeste?"  asked  Pepsie 
eagerly. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  think  how  your  cousin  Marie  is 
turning  us  upside  down,  since  she  decided  to  be  a 
lady."  Here  Tante  Modeste  made  a  little  grimace 
of  disdain.  "  She  must  have  our  house  changed, 
and  her  papa  can't  say  '  no  '  to  her.  I  like  it  best  as 
it  was,  but  Marie  must  have  paint  and  carpets ;  think 
of  it  —  carpets !  But  I  draw  the  line  at  the  parlor 
—  the  salon,"  and  again  Tante  Modeste  shrugged 
and  laughed.  "  She  wants  a  salon;  well,  she  shall 
have  a  salon  just  as  she  likes  it,  and  I  will  have  the 
other  part  of  the  house  as  I  like  it.  Just  imagine, 
your  uncle  has  gone  on  Rue  Royale,  and  bought  a 
mirror,  a  console,  a  cabinet,  a  sofa,  and  a  carpet." 

"  Oh,  oh,   Tante   Modeste,   how  lovely !  "  cried 


LADY  JANE  103 

Pepsie,  clasping  her  hands  in  admiration.  "  I  wish 
I  could  see  the  parlor  just  once." 

"  You  shall,  my  dear;  you  shall,  if  you  have  to  be 
brought  on  a  bed.  When  there  's  a  wedding," —  and 
she  nodded  brightly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  and  there 
will  be  one  soon," — "  you  shall  be  brought  there. 
I  '11  arrange  it  so  you  can  come  comfortably,  my 
dear.  Have  patience,  you  shall  come." 

"  How  good  you  are,  Tante  Modeste,"  cried  Pep- 
sie, enraptured  at  the  promise  of  such  happiness. 

"  But  now,  cherie,"  she  said,  turning  to  Lady 
Jane,  whose  little  face  was  expressing  in  pantomime 
her  pleasure  at  Pepsie's  delight,  "  I  've  come  for  you 
this  morning  to  take  you  a  ride  in  the  cart,  as  I 
promised." 

"  Tante  Pauline  does  n't  know,"  began  Lady  Jane 
dutifully.  "  I  must  go  and  ask  her  if  I  can." 

"  I  '11  send  Tite,"  cried  Pepsie,  eager  to  have  the 
child  enjoy  what  to  her  seemed  the  greatest  pleasure 
on  earth. 

"  Here,  Tite,"  she  said,  as  the  black  visage  ap- 
peared at  the  door.  "  Run  quick  across  to  Madame 
Jozain,  and  ask  if  Miss  Lady  can  go  to  ride  in  the 
milk-cart  with  Madame  Paichoux;  and  bring  me  a 
clean  frock  and  her  hat  and  sash." 


104  LADY  JANE 

Tite  flew  like  the  wind,  her  black  legs  making  zig- 
zag strokes  across  the  street,  while  Pepsie  brushed 
the  child's  beautiful  hair  until  it  shone  like  gold. 

Madame  Jozain  did  not  object.  Of  course,  a 
milk-cart  was  n't  a  carriage,  but  then  Lady  Jane  was 
only  a  child,  and  it  did  n't  matter. 

While  Pepsie  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to 
Lady  Jane's  toilet,  Xante  Modeste  and  Tite  Souris 
were  busy  bringing  various  packages  from  the  milk- 
cart  to  the  little  room ;  butter,  cream,  cheese,  sausage, 
a  piece  of  pig,  and  a  fine  capon.  When  Tante  Mo- 
deste came,  she  always  left  a  substantial  proof  of 
her  visit. 

There  was  only  one  drawback  to  Lady  Jane's  joy, 
and  that  was  the  necessity  of  leaving  Tony  behind. 

"  You  might  take  him,"  said  Tante  Modeste, 
good-naturedly,  "  but  there  are  so  many  young  ones 
home  they  'd  pester  the  bird  about  to  death,  and 
something  might  happen  to  him ;  he  might  get  away, 
and  then  you  'd  never  forgive  us." 

"  I  know  I  must  n't  take  him,"  said  Lady  Jane, 
with  sweet  resignation.  "  Dear  Tony,  be  a  good 
bird  while  I  'm  gone,  and  you  shall  have  some  bugs 
to-morrow."  Tony  was  something  of  an  epicure, 


LADY  JANE  105 

and  "  bugs,"  as  Lady  Jane  called  them,  extracted 
from  cabbage-leaves,  were  a  delight  to  him.  Then 
she  embraced  him  fondly,  and  fastened  him  securely 
td  Pepsie's  chair,  and  went  away  with  many  good- 
bys  and  kisses  for  her  friend  and  not  a  few  linger- 
ing glances  for  her  pet. 

It  was  a  perfectly  enchanting  situation  to  Lady 
Jane  when  she  was  mounted  up  on  the  high  seat, 
close  under  Xante  Modeste's  sheltering  wing,  with 
her  little  feet  on  the  cream-cheese  box,  and  the  two 
tall  cans  standing  in  front  like  sturdy  tin  footmen 
waiting  for  orders.  Then  Tante  Modeste  pulled 
the  top  up  over  their  heads  and  shook  her  lines  at 
the  fat  little  mule,  and  away  they  clattered  down 
Good  Children  Street,  with  all  the  children  and  all 
the  dogs  running  on  behind. 

It  was  a  long  and  delightful  drive  to  Lady  Jane 
before  they  got  out  of  town  to  where  the  cottages 
were  scattered  and  set  in  broad  fields,  with  trees  and 
pretty  gardens.  At  length  they  turned  out  of  the 
beautiful  Esplanade,  with  its  shady  rows  of  trees, 
into  Frenchman  Street,  and  away  down  the  river 
they  stopped  before  a  large  double  cottage  that  stood 
well  back  from  the  street,  surrounded  by  trees  and 


io6  LADY  JANE 

flowers;  a  good-natured,  healthy-looking  boy  threw 
open  the  gate,  and  Tante  Modeste  clattered  into  the 
yard,  calling  out : 

"  Here,  Tiburce,  quick,  my  boy ;  unhitch  the  mule, 
and  turn  him  out."  The  little  animal  understood 
perfectly  well  what  she  said,  and  shaking  his  long 
ears  he  nickered  approvingly. 

Lady  Jane  was  lifted  down  from  her  high  perch 
by  Paichoux  himself,  who  gave  her  a  right  cordial 
welcome,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  surrounded  by 
Tante  Modeste's  good-natured  brood.  At  first  she 
felt  a  little  shy,  there  were  so  many,  and  they  were 
such  noisy  children;  but  they  were  so  kind  and 
friendly  toward  her  that  they  soon  won  her  confi- 
dence and  affection. 

That  day  was  a  "  red-letter  day  "  to  Lady  Jane; 
she  was  introduced  to  all  the  pets  of  the  farm-yard, 
the  poultry,  the  dogs,  the  kittens,  the  calves,  the 
ponies,  and  little  colts,  and  the  great  soft  motherly 
looking  cows  that  stood  quietly  in  rows  to  be  milked ; 
and  afterward  they  played  under  the  trees  in  the 
grass,  while  they  gathered  roses  by  the  armful  to 
carry  to  Pepsie,  and  filled  a  basket  with  pecans  for 
Madelon. 

She  was  feasted  on  gumbo,  fried  chicken,  rice- 


LADY  JANE  107 

cakes,  and  delicious  cream  cheese  until  she  could  eat 
no  more ;  she  was  caressed  and  petted  to  her  heart's 
content  from  the  pretty  Marie  down  to  the  smallest 
white-headed  Paichoux ;  she  saw  the  fine  parlor,  the 
mirror,  the  pictures,  the  cabinet  of  shells,  and  the 
vases  of  wax-flowers,  and,  to  crown  all,  Paichoux 
himself  lifted  her  on  Tiburce's  pony  and  rode  her 
around  the  yard  several  times,  while  Tante  Modeste 
made  her  a  beautiful  cake,  frosted  like  snow,  with 
her  name  in  pink  letters  across  the  top. 

At  last,  when  the  milk-cart  came  around  with  its 
evening  load  of  fresh  milk  for  waiting  customers, 
Lady  Jane  was  lifted  up  again  beside  Tante  Modeste, 
overloaded  with  presents,  caresses,  and  good  wishes, 
the  happiest  child,  as  well  as  the  tiredest,  that  ever 
rode  in  a  milk-cart. 

Long  before  they  reached  the  noisy  city  streets, 
Lady  Jane  became  very  silent,  and  Tante  Modeste 
peeped  under  the  broad  hat  to  see  if  she  had  fallen 
asleep;  but  no,  the  blue  eyes  were  wide  and  wistful, 
and  the  little  face  had  lost  its  glow  of  happiness. 

"  Are  you  tired,  cherief  "  asked  Tante  Modeste 
kindly. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  replied,  with  a  soft  sigh. 
"  I  was  thinking  of  papa,  and  Sunflower,  and  the 


io8  LADY  JANE 

ranch,  and  dear  mama.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  she  '11  come 
back  soon." 

Tante  Modeste  made  no  reply,  but  she  fell  to 
thinking  too.  There  was  something  strange  about 
it  all  that  she  could  n't  understand. 

The  child's  remarks  and  Madame  Jozain's  stories 
did  not  agree.  There  was  a  mystery,  and  she  meant 
to  get  at  the  bottom  of  it  by  some  means.  And 
when  Tante  Modeste  set  out  to  accomplish  a  thing 
she  usually  succeeded. 


CHAPTER  XII 
TANTE  MODESTE'S  SUSPICIONS 


,"  said  Tante  Modeste  to  her  hus~ 
band,  that  same  night,  before  the  tired  dairy- 

man went  to  bed,  "  I  've  been  thinking  of  something 
all  the  evening." 

"  Vraiment!  I  'm  surprised,"  returned  Paichoux 
facetiously  ;  "  I  did  n't  know  you  ever  wasted  time 
thinking." 

"  I  don't  usually,"  went  on  Tante  Modeste,  ignor- 
ing her  husband's  little  attempt  at  pleasantry  ;  "  but 
really,  papa,  this  thing  is  running  through  my  head 
constantly.  It  's  about  that  little  girl  of  Madame 
Jozain's  ;  there  's  something  wrong  about  the  menage 
there.  That  child  is  no  more  a  Jozain  than  I  am. 
A  Jozain,  indeed  !  —  she  's  a  little  aristocrat,  if  ever 
there  was  one,  a  born  little  lady." 

"  Perhaps  she  's  a  Bergeron,"  suggested  Paichoux, 
with  a  quizzical  smile.  "  Madame  prides  herself  on 
being  a  Bergeron,  and  the  Bergerons  are  fairly  de- 

109 


i  io  LADY  JANE 

cent  people.  Old  Bergeron,  the  baker,  was  an  hon- 
est man." 

"  That  may  be ;  but  she  is  n't  a  Bergeron,  either. 
That  child  is  different,  you  can  see  it.  Look  at  her 
beside  our  young  ones.  Why,  she  's  a  swan  among 
geese." 

"  Well,  that  happens  naturally  sometimes,"  said 
the  philosophic  Paichoux.  "  I  've  seen  it  over  and 
over  in  common  breeds.  It 's  an  accident,  but  it 
happens.  In  a  litter  of  curs,  there  '11  be  often  one 
stylish  dog ;  the  puppies  '11  grow  up  together ;  but 
there  '11  be  one  different  from  the  others,  and  the 
handsomest  one  may  not  be  the  smartest,  but  he  '11 
be  the  master,  and  get  the  best  of  everything.  Now 
look  at  that  black  filly  of  mine ;  where  did  she  get  her 
style  ?  Not  from  either  father  or  mother.  It 's  an 
accident  —  an  accident, —  and  it  may  be  with  chil- 
dren as  it  is  with  puppies  and  colts,  and  that  little  one 
may  be  an  example  of  it." 

"  Nonsense,  Paichoux ! "  said  Tante  Modeste 
sharply.  "  There  's  no  accident  about  it ;  there  's  a 
mystery,  and  Madame  Jozain  does  n't  tell  the  truth 
when  she  talks  about  the  child.  I  can  feel  it  even 
when  she  does  n't  contradict  herself.  The  other 


LADY  JANE  in 

day  I  stepped  in  there  to  buy  Marie  a  ribbon,  and 
I  spoke  about  the  child !  in  fact,  I  asked  which  side 
she  came  from,  and  madame  answered  very  curtly 
that  her  father  was  a  Jozain.  Now  this  is  what  set 
me  to  thinking :  To-day,  when  Pepsie  was  putting 
a  clean  frock  on  the  child,  I  noticed  that  her  under- 
clothing was  marked  '  J.  C.'  Remember,  '  J.  C.' 
Well,  the  day  that  I  was  in  madame's  shop,  she  said 
to  me  in  her  smooth  way  that  she  'd  heard  of  Marie's 
intended  marriage,  and  that  she  had  something  supe- 
rior, exquisite,  that  she  'd  like  to  show  me.  Then 
she  took  a  box  out  of  her  armoire,  and  in  it  were  a 
number  of  the  most  beautiful  sets  of  linen  I  ever 
saw,  batiste  as  fine  as  cobwebs  and  real  lace. 
'  They  're  just  what  you  need  for  mademoiselle,'  she 
said  in  her  wheedling  tone ;  '  since  she  's  going  to 
marry  into  such  a  distinguished  family,  you  '11  want 
to  give  her  the  best.' 

"  '  They  're  too  fine  for  my  daughter,'  I  answered, 
as  I  turned  them  over  and  examined  them  carefully. 
They  were  the  handsomest  things !  —  and  on  every 
piece  was  a  pretty  little  embroidered  monogram,  J. 
C. ;  mind  you,  the  same  as  the  letters  on  the  child's 
clothes.  Then  I  asked  her  right  out,  for  it 's  no  use 


ii2  LADY  JANE 

mincing  matters  with  such  a  woman,  where  in  the 
world  she  got  such  lovely  linen. 

'  They  belonged  to  my  niece/  she  said,  with  a 
hypocritical  sigh,  '  and  I  'd  like  to  sell  them ;  they  're 
no  good  to  the  child ;  before  she  's  grown  up  they  '11 
be  spoiled  with  damp  and  mildew ;  I  'd  rather  have 
the  money  to  educate  her.' 

'  But  the  monogram ;  it 's  a  pity  they  're  marked 
J.  C.'  I  repeated  the  letters  over  to  see  what 
she  would  say,  and  as  I  live  she  was  ready  for 
me. 

"  '  No,  madame ;  it 's  C.  J. —  Claire  Jozain ;  her 
name  was  Claire,  you  're  looking  at  it  wrong,  and 
really  it  don't  matter  much  how  the  letters  are  placed, 
for  they  're  always  misleading,  you  never  know 
which  comes  first;  and,  dear  Madame  Paichoux,' — 
she  deared  me,  and  that  made  me  still  more  suspi- 
cious,— '  don't  you  see  that  the  C  might  easily  be 
mistaken  for  G?  —  and  no  one  will  notice  the  J,  it 
looks  so  much  like  a  part  of  the  vine  around  it.  I  '11 
make  them  a  bargain  if  you  '11  take  them. 

"  I  told  her  no,  that  they -were  too  fine  for  my  girl ; 
par  exemple!  as  if  I  'd  let  Mariet  wear  stolen  clothes, 
perhaps." 


LADY  JANE  113 

"Hush,  hush,  Modeste!"  exclaimed  Paichoux; 
"  you  might  get  in  the  courts  for  that." 
.  "  Or  get  her  there,  which  would  be  more  to  the 
purpose.  I  'd  like  to  know  when  and  where  that 
niece  died,  and  who  was  with  her;  besides,  the  child 
says  such  strange  things,  now  and  then,  they  set  one 
to  thinking.  To-day  when  I  was  taking  her  home, 
she  began  to  talk  about  the  ranch,  and  her  papa  and 
mama.  Sometimes  I  think  they  've  stolen  her." 

"  Oh,  Modeste !  The  woman  is  n't  as  bad  as 
that ;  I  Ve  never  heard  anything  against  her"  inter- 
rupted the  peaceable  Paichoux,  "  she  's  got  a  bad  son, 
it 's  true.  That  boy,  Raste,  is  his  father  over  again. 
Why,  I  hear  he  's  already  been  in  the  courts ;  but 
she 's  all  right  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  Well,  we  '11  see,"  said  Tante  Modeste,  oracu- 
larly; "  but  I  'm  not  satisfied  about  that  monogram. 
It  was  J.  C,  as  sure  as  I  live,  and  not  C.  J." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do,  mama,"  said  Paich- 
oux, after  some  deliberate  thought ;  he  was  slow,  but 
he  was  sure ;  "  we  '11  keep  a  watch  on  the  little  one, 
and  if  anything  happens,  I  '11  stand  by  her.  You 
tell  sister  Madelon  to  let  me  know  if  anything  hap- 
pens, and  I  '11  see  her  through  all  right." 


ii4  LADY  JANE 

"  Then  I  believe  she  's  safe,"  said  Tante  Modeste 
proudly,  "  for  every  one  knows  that  when  Paichoux 
says  a  thing,  he  means  it" 

If  Madam  Jozain  had  only  known  how  unfavor- 
able were  the  comments  of  her  supposed  friends,  she 
would  not  have  felt  as  comfortable  as  she  did.  Al- 
though she  was  riding  on  the  topmost  wave  of  pros- 
perity, as  far  as  her  business  was  concerned,  she  was 
not,  as  I  said  before,  entirely  happy  unless  she  had 
the  good  opinion  of  every  one,  and  for  some  reason, 
probably  the  result  of  a  guilty  conscience,  she  fancied 
that  people  looked  askance  at  her;  for,  in  spite  of 
her  polite  advances,  she  had  not  succeeded  in  making 
friends  of  her  neighbors.  They  came  to  her  shop  to 
chat  and  look,  and  sometimes  to  buy,  and  she  was  as 
civil  to  them  as  it  was  possible  to  be.  She  gave  them 
her  most  comfortable  chairs,  and  pulled  down  every- 
thing for  them  to  examine,  and  unfolded,  untied, 
and  unpacked,  only  to  have  the  trouble  of  putting 
them  all  away  again.  It  was  true  they  bought  a 
good  deal  at  times,  and  she  had  got  rid  of  many  of 
"  those  things  "  in  a  quiet  way,  and  at  fair  prices; 
but  still  the  neighbors  kept  her  at  a  distance;  they 
were  polite  enough,  but  they  were  not  cordial,  and  it 


LADY  JANE  115 

was  cordiality,  warmth,  admiration,  flattery,  for 
which  she  hungered. 

It  was  true  she  had  a  great  deal  to  be  proud  of,  for 
Raste  was  growing  handsomer  and  more  of  a  gentle- 
man every  day.  He  was  the  best  looking  fellow  in 
the  quarter,  and  he  dressed  so  well, —  like  his  father, 
he  was  large  and  showy, —  and  wore  the  whitest 
linen,  the  gayest  neckties,  and  the  finest  jewelry, 
among  which  was  the  beautiful  watch  of  the  dead 
woman.  This  watch  he  was  fond  of  showing  to  his 
friends,  and  pointing  out  the  monogram,  C.  J.,  in 
diamonds;  for,  like  his  mother,  he  found  it  easy  to 
transpose  the  letters  to  suit  himself. 

All  this  went  a  long  way  with  Raste's  intimates, 
and  made  him  very  popular  among  a  certain  class  of 
young  men  who  lived  by  their  wits  and  yet  kept  up  a 
show  of  respectability. 

And  then,  beside  her  satisfaction  in  Raste,  there 
was  the  little  Lady  Jane,  to  whom  every  door  in  the 
neighborhood  was  open.  She  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  the  most  stylish  child  that  ever  was  seen  in 
Good  Children  Street,  and  she  attracted  more  atten- 
tion than  all  the  other  people  put  together.  She 
never  went  out  but  what  she  heard  something  flatter- 


n6  LADY  JANE 

ing  about  the  little  darling,  and  she  knew  that  a 
great  many  people  came  to  the  shop  just  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  her. 

All  this  satisfied  her  ambition,  but  not  her  vanity. 
She  knew  that  Lady  Jane  cared  more  for  Pepsie, 
Madelon,  or  even  little  Gex,  than  she  did  for  her. 
The  child  was  always  dutiful,  but  never  affectionate. 
Sometimes  a  feeling  of  bitterness  would  stir  within 
her,  and,  thinking  she  had  cause  to  complain,  she 
would  accuse  the  child  of  ingratitude. 

"  She  is  a  little  ingrate,  a  little  viper,  that  stings 
me  after  I  have  warmed  her.  And  to  think  of  what 
I  've  done  for  her,  and  the  worry  and  anxiety  I  've 
suffered!  After  all,  I'm  poorly  paid,  and  get  but 
little  for  all  my  studying  and  planning.  She  's  a  lit- 
tle upstart,  a  little  aristocrat,  who  will  trample  on 
me  some  day.  Well,  it 's  what  one  gets  in  this 
world  for  doing  a  good  deed.  If  I  'd  turned  her  and 
her  mother  out  to  die  in  the  street,  I  'd  been  thought 
more  of  than  I  am  now,  and  perhaps  I  'd  been  as  well 
off." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ONE   OF   THE   NOBILITY 

ON  the  next  block,  above  little  Gex's  fruit  stall, 
was  a  small  cottage  set  close  to  the  sidewalk, 
with  two  narrow  windows  covered  with  batten  shut- 
ters that  no  one  remembered  to  have  ever  seen 
opened.  On  one  side  was  a  high  green  fence,  in 
which  was  a  small  door,  and  above  this  fence  some 
flowering  trees  were  visible.  A  pink  crape-myrtle 
shed  its  transparent  petals  on  the  sidewalk  below. 
A  white  oleander  and  a  Cape  jasmine  made  the  air 
fragrant,  while  a  "  Gold  of  Ophir  "  rose,  entwined 
with  a  beautiful  "  Reine  Henriette,"  crept  along  the 
top  of  the  fence,  and  hung  in  riotous  profusion  above 
the  heads  of  the  passers. 

Every  day,  in  rain  or  shine,  when  Lady  Jane  vis- 
ited little  Gex,  she  continued  her  walk  to  the  green 
fence,  and  stood  looking  wistfully  at  the  clustering 
roses  that  bloomed  securely  beyond  the  reach  of  pil- 
fering fingers,  vainly  wishing  that  some  of  them 

117 


ii8  LADY  JANE 

would  fall  at  her  feet,  or  that  the  gate  might  acci- 
dentally open,  so  that  she  could  get  a  peep  within. 

And  Lady  Jane  was  not  more  curious  than  most  of 
the  older  residents  of  Good  Children  Street.  For 
many  years  it  had  been  the  desire  of  the  neighbor- 
hood to  see  what  was  going  on  behind  that  impene- 
trable green  fence.  Those  who  were  lucky  enough 
to  get  a  glimpse,  when  the  gate  was  opened  for  a 
moment  to  take  the  nickel  of  milk,  or  loaf  of  bread, 
saw  a  beautiful  little  garden,  carefully  tended  and 
filled  with  exquisite  flowers;  but  Lady  Jane  was 
never  fortunate  enough  to  be  present  on  one  of  those 
rare  occasions,  as  they  always  happened  very  early, 
and  when  her  little  yellow  head  was  resting  on  its 
pillow;  but  sometimes,  while  she  lingered  on  the 
sidewalk,  near  the  gate,  or  under  the  tightly  closed 
shutters,  she  would  hear  the  melodious  song  of  a 
bird,  or  the  tinkling,  liquid  sound  of  an  ancient 
piano,  thin  and  clear  as  a  trickling  rivulet,  and  with 
it  she  would  hear  sometimes  a  high,  sweet,  tremulous 
voice  singing  an  aria  from  some  old-fashioned  opera. 
Lady  Jane  did  n't  know  that  it  was  an  old-fashioned 
opera,  but  she  thought  it  very  odd  and  beautiful,  all 
the  same;  and  she  loved  to  linger  and  listen  to  the 
correct  but  feeble  rendering  of  certain  passages  that 


LADY  JANE  119 

touched  her  deeply :  for  the  child  had  an  inborn  love 
of  music  and  one  of  the  most  exquisite  little  voices 
ever  heard. 

Pepsie  used  to  close  her  eyes  in  silent -ecstasy  when 
Lady  Jane  sang  the  few  simple  airs  and  lullabies  she 
had  learned  from  her  mother,  and  when  her  tender 
little  voice  warbled 

"  Sleep,  baby,  sleep, 
The  white  moon  is  the  shepherdess, 
The  little  stars  the  sheep," 

Pepsie  would  cover  her  face,  and  cry  silently.  No 
one  ever  heard  her  sing  but  Pepsie.  She  was  very 
shy  about  it,  and  if  even  Tite  Souris  came  into  the 
room  she  would  stop  instantly. 

Therefore,  little  Gex  was  very  much  surprised 
one  day,  when  he  went  out  on  the  banquette,  to  see 
his  small  favorite  before  the  closed  shutters  with 
Tony  in  her  arms,  his  long  legs  almost  touching  the 
sidewalk,  so  carelessly  was  he  held,  while  his  enrap- 
tured little  mistress  was  standing  with  her  serious 
eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  window,  her  face  pale  and 
illumined  with  a  sort  of  spiritual  light,  her  lips 
parted,  and  a  ripple  of  the  purest,  sweetest,  most 
liquid  melody  issuing  from  between  them  that  Gex 


120  LADY  JANE 

had  ever  heard,  even  in  those  old  days  when  he  used 
to  haunt  the  French  Opera. 

He  softly  drew  near  to  listen ;  she  was  keeping  per- 
fect time  with  the  tinkling  piano  and  the  faded  voice 
of  the  singer  within  who  with  many  a  quaver  and 
break  was  singing  a  beautiful  old  French  song;  and 
the  bird-like  voice  of  the  child  went  up  and  down,  in 
and  out  through  the  difficult  passages  with  wonder- 
ful passion  and  precision. 

Gex  slipped  away  silently,  and  stole  almost  guiltily 
into  his  little  den.  He  had  discovered  one  of  the 
child's  secret  pleasures,  as  well  as  one  of  her  rare 
gifts,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  no  right  to  possess  such 
wonderful  knowledge. 

"  Ma  foil "  he  thought,  wiping  way  a  fugitive 
tear,  for  the  music  had  awakened  slumbering  mem- 
ories, "  some  one  ought  to  know  of  that  voice.  I 
wish  Mam'selle  d'Hautreve  was  n't  so  unapproach- 
able ;  I  'd  speak  to  her,  and  perhaps  she  'd  teach  the 
child." 

Presently  Lady  Jane  entered,  carrying  Tony  lan- 
guidly; she  said  good-morning  as  politely  as  usual, 
and  smiled  her  charming  smile,  but  she  seemed  pre- 
occupied, and  unusually  serious.  With  a  tired  sigh 
she  dropped  Tony  on  the  floor,  and  climbed  up  to  her 


LADY  JANE  121 

chair,  where  she  sat  for  some  time  in  deep  thought. 
At  length  she  said  in  an  intensely  earnest  voice: 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Gex,  I  wish  I  could  get  inside  that  gate 
some  way.  I  wish  I  could  see  who  it  is  that  sings." 

"  Vhy,  my  leetle  lady,  it 's  Mam'selle  Diane  vhat 
sings  so  fine?  " 

"  Who  is  Mam'selle  Diane?  " 

*'  Mam'selle  Diane  is  the  daughter  of  Madame 
d'Hautreve  vhat  live  all  alone  in  the  leetle  shut-up 
house.  Madame  and  Mam'selle  Diane,  they  are 
noblesse,  of  the  nobility.  Veil,  you  don't  know  vhat 
is  that.  Attendez,  I  vill  try  to  make  you  under- 
stand." 

"  Is  it  rich  ?  "  asked  Lady  Jane,  anxious  to  help 
simplify  the  situation. 

"  Oh  no,  no,  they  are  vairy,  vairy  poor;  noblesse 
is  vhat  you  're  born  vith." 

"  Like  the  spine  in  the  back,"  suggested  Lady  Jane 
eagerly.  "  Pepsie  says  you  're  born  with  that." 

"  No,  it 's  not  that,"  and  Gex  smiled  a  grim, 
puzzled  smile,  and  pushing  his  spectacles  on  the  top 
of  his  head,  he  wiped  his  forehead  thoughtfully. 
"  You  Ve  heard  of  the  king,  my  leetle  lady,  now 
have  n't  you." 

"  Oh,   yes,   yes,"   returned   Lady   Jane   brightly. 


122  LADY  JANE 

"  They  wear  crowns  and  sit  on  thrones,  and  Pepsie 
says  there  is  a  king  of  the  carnival,  King  Rex." 

"  Yes,  that 's  it,"  said  Gex,  rubbing  his  hands  with 
satisfaction,  "  and  the  king  is  vay  up  high  over 
everybody,  and  all  the  peoples  must  honor  the  king. 
Veil,  the  noblesse  is  something  like  the  king,  my 
leetle  lady,  only  not  quite  so  high  up.  Veil,  Mam'- 
selle's  grandpere  vas  a  noble.  One  of  the  French 
noblesse.  Does  my  leetle  lady  understand?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  returned  Lady  Jane  doubtfully. 
"  Does  she  sit  on  a  throne  and  wear  a  crown  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  they  are  poor,  vairy  poor,"  said 
Gex  humbly,  "  and  then,  my  leetle  lady  must  know 
that  the  comte  is  naiver  so  high  up  as  the  king,  and 
then  they  have  lost  all  their  money  and  are  poor, 
vairy  poor.  Once,  long  ago,  they  vas  rich,  oh,  vairy 
rich,  and  they  had  one  big,  grand  house,  and  the  car- 
riage, and  the  fine  horses,  and  many,  many  servant ; 
now  there  's  only  them  two  vhat  lives  all  alone  in  the 
leetle  house.  The  grandpere,  and  the  pere,  all  are 
dead  long  ago,  and  Madame  d'Hautreve  and  Mam'- 
selle  Diane  only  are  left  to  live  in  the  leetle  house, 
shut  up  behind  that  high  fence,  alone,  alvay  alone. 
And,  my  leetle  lady,  no  one  remembers  them,  I  don't 
believe,  for  it  is  ten  year  I  've  been  right  in  this  Rue 


LADY  JANE  123 

cles  Bons  Enfants,  and  I  naiver  have  seen  no  one  en- 
tair  that  gate,  and  no  one  comes  out  of  it  vairy  often. 
Mam'selle  Diane  must  clean  her  banquette  in  the 
dark  of  the  night,  for  I  Ve  naiver  seen  her  do  it. 
I  Ve  vatched,  but  I  have  seen  her,  naiver.  Some- 
time, when  it  is  vairy  early,  Mam'selle  Diane  comes 
to  my  leetle  shop  for  one  dime  of  orange  for  Madam 
d'Hautreve,  she  is  vairy  old  and  so  poor.  Ah,  but 
she  is  one  of  the  noblesse,  the  genuine  French  no- 
blesse, and  Mam'selle  Diane  is  so  polite  vhen  she 
come  to  my  leetle  shop." 

"  If  I  should  go  there  early,  very  early,"  asked 
Lady  Jane  with  increasing  interest,  "  and  wait  there 
all  day,  don't  you  think  I  might  see  her  come  out?  " 

"  You  might,  my  leetle  lady,  and  you  might  not. 
About  once  in  the  month,  Mam'selle  Diane  comes 
out  all  in  the  black  dress  and  veil,  and  one  little  black 
basket  on  her  arm,  and  she  goes  up  toward  Rue 
Royale.  Vhen  she  goes  out  the  basket  it  is  heavy, 
vhen  she  comes  back  it  is  light." 

"  What  does  she  carry  in  it,  Mr.  Gex  ?  "  asked 
Lady  Jane,  her  eyes  large  and  her  voice  awe-stricken 
over  the  mysterious  contents  of  the  basket. 

"  Ah,  I  know  not,  my  leetle  lady.  It  is  one  mys- 
tery," returned  Gex  solemnly.  "  Mam'selle  is  so 


124  LADY  JANE 

proud  and  so  shut  up  that  no  one  can't  find  out  any- 
thing. Poor  lady,  and  vhen  does  she  do  her  market, 
and  vhat  do  they  eat,  for  all  I  evair  see  her  buy  is  one 
nickel  of  bread,  and  one  nickel  of  milk." 

"  But  she  's  got  flowers  and  birds,  and  she  plays  on 
the  piano  and  sings,"  said  Lady  Jane  reflectively. 
"  Perhaps  she  is  n't  hungry  and  does  n't  want  any- 
thing to  eat." 

"  That  may  be  so,  my  leetle  lady,"  replied  Gex 
with  smiling  approval,  "  I  naiver  thought  of  it,  but 
it  may  be  so  —  it  may  be  so.  Perhaps  the  noblesse 
don't  have  the  big  appetite,  and  don't  want  so  much 
to  eat  as  the  common  people." 

"  Oh,  I  nearly  forgot,  Mr.  Gex,  Pepsie  wants  a 
nickel  of  cabbage,"  and  Lady  Jane  suddenly  returned 
to  earth  and  earthly  things  did  her  errand,  took  her 
lagniappe,  and  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LADY   JANE   VISITS   THE   D'HAUTREVES 

ONE  morning  Lady  Jane  was  rewarded  for  her 
patient  waiting ;  as  usual,  she  was  lingering  on 
the  sidewalk  near  the  green  fence,  when  she  heard  the 
key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  suddenly  the  door  opened, 
and  an  elderly  lady,  very  tall  and  thin,  with  a  mild, 
pale  face,  appeared  and  beckoned  her  to  approach. 

For  a  moment  Lady  Jane  felt  shy,  and  drew  back, 
fearing  that  she  had  been  a  little  rude  in  haunting  the 
place  so  persistently;  besides,  to  her  knowledge,  she 
had  never  before  stood  in  the  presence  of  "  genuine 
French  nobility,"  and  the  pale,  solemn  looking 
woman,  who,  in  spite  of  her  rusty  gown,  had  an  air 
of  distinction,  rather  awed  her.  However,  her  good 
breeding  soon  got  the  better  of  her  timidity,  and  she 
went  forward  with  a  charming  smile. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  in,  my  dear,  and  look 
at  my  flowers  ?  "  said  the  lady,  opening  the  gate  a 
little  wider  for  Lady  Jane  to  enter. 

125 


126  LADY  JANE 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  and  Lady  Jane  smiled  and 
flushed  with  pleasure  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  beautiful  vista  beyond  the  dark  figure.  "  May  I 
bring  Tony  in,  too  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  want  to  see  him  very  much,  but  I 
want  to  see  you  more,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  caress- 
ingly on  the  beautiful  head  of  the  child.  "  I  've 
been  watching  you  for  some  time." 

"  Have  you  ?  Why,  how  did  you  see  me  ?  "  and 
Lady  Jane  dimpled  with  smiles. 

"  Oh,  through  a  little  chink  in  my  fence ;  I  see 
more  than  any  one  would  think,"  replied  the  lady 
smiling. 

"  And  you  saw  me  waiting  and  waiting ;  oh,  why 
did  n't  you  ask  me  in  before?  I  've  wanted  to  come 
in  so  much,  and  did  you  know  I  'd  been  here  singing 
with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  n't  know  that." 

"  Are  you  Mam'selle  Diane?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  Mam'selle  Diane ;  and  what  is  your 
name  ?  " 

"  I  'm  called  Lady  Jane." 

"Lady  Jane, —  Lady?  Why,  do  you  know  that 
you  have  a  title  of  nobility?  " 

"  But  I  'm  not  one  of  the  nobility.     It 's  my  name, 


LADY  JANE  127 

just  Lady  Jane.  Papa  always  called  me  Lady  Jane. 
I  did  n't  know  what  nobility  was,  and  Mr.  Gex  told 
me  that  you  were  one.  Now  I  '11  never  forget  what 
it  is,  but  I  'm  not  one." 

"  You  're  a  very  sweet  little  girl,  all  the  same," 
said  Mam'selle  Diane,  a  smile  breaking  over  her 
grave  face.  "  Come  in,  I  want  to  show  you  and 
your  bird  to  mama." 

Lady  Jane  followed  her  guide  across  a  small,  spot- 
less side  gallery  into  a  tiny  room  of  immaculate 
cleanliness,  where,  sitting  in  an  easy-chair  near  a 
high  bed,  was  an  old,  old  lady,  the  oldest  person  Lady 
Jane  had  ever  seen,  with  hair  as  white  as  snow, 
combed  back  from  a  delicate,  shrunken  face  and  cov- 
ered with  a  little  black  silk  cap. 

"  Mama,  this  is  the  little  girl  with  the  bird  of 
whom  I  've  been  telling  you,"  said  Mam'selle  Diane, 
leading  her  forward.  "  And,  Lady  Jane,  this  is  my 
mother,  Madame  d'Hautreve." 

The  old  lady  shook  hands  with  the  child  and 
patted  her  head  caressingly;  then  she  asked,  in  a 
weak,  quavering  voice,  if  the  bird  was  n't  too  heavy 
for  the  little  girl  to  carry. 

"  Oh,  no,  Madame,"  replied  Lady  Jane,  brightly. 
"  Tony  's  large,  he  grows  very  fast,  but  he  is  n't 


128  LADY  JANE 

heavy,  he  's  all  feathers,  he  's  very  light ;  would  you 
like  to  take  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  my  dear,  oh  no,"  said  the  old  lady, 
drawing  back  timidly.  "  I  should  n't  like  to  touch  it, 
but  I  should  like  to  see  it  walk.  I  suppose  it 's  a 
crane,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  He 's  a  blue  heron,  and  he 's  not  a  common 
bird,"  replied  Lady  Jane,  repeating  her  little  for- 
mula, readily  and  politely. 

"  I  see  that  it 's  different  from  a  crane,"  said 
Mam'selle  Diane,  looking  at  Tony  critically,  who, 
now  that  his  mistress  had  put  him  down,  stood  on 
one  leg  very  much  humped  up,  and  making,  on  the 
whole,  rather  an  ungainly  figure. 

"  Tony  always  will  do  that  before  strangers,"  ob- 
served Lady  Jane  apologetically.  "  When  I  want 
him  to  walk  about  and  show  his  feathers,  he  just 
draws  himself  up  and  stands  on  one  leg." 

"  However,  he  is  very  pretty  and  very  odd. 
Don't  you  think  I  might  succeed  in  copying  him?  " 
And  Mam'selle  Diane  turned  an  anxious  glance  on 
her  mother. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear,"  quavered  the  old  lady, 
"  his  legs  are  so  long  that  they  would  break  easily  if 
they  were  made  of  sealing-wax." 


LADY  JANE,  CLINGING  TO  THE  RAILING,  LOOKED  AND  LOOKED 


LADY  JANE  129 

"  I  think  I  could  use  a  wire  with  the  sealing-wax," 
said  Mam'selle  Diane,  thoughtfully  regarding  Tony's 
leg.  "  You  see  there  would  be  only  one." 

"  I  know,  my  dear,  but  the  wool ;  you  've  got  no 
wool  the  color  of  his  feathers." 

"  Madame  Jourdain  would  send  for  it." 

"  But,  Diane,  think  of  the  risk;  if  you  should  n't 
succeed,  you  'd  waste  the  wool,  and  you  do  the  ducks 
so  well,  really,  my  dear,  I  think  you  'd  better  be  satis- 
fied with  the  ducks  and  the  canaries." 

"  Mama,  it  would  be  something  new,  something 
original.  I  'm  tired  of  ducks  and  canaries." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  sha'n't  oppose  you,  if  you  think 
you  can  succeed,  but  it 's  a  great  risk  to  start  out  with 
an  entirely  new  model  ,and  you  can't  use  the  wool  for 
the  ducks  if  you  should  fail;  you  must  think  of  that, 
my  dear,  whether  you  can  afford  to  lose  the  wool,  if 
you  fail." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  between 
Mam'selle  Diane  and  her  mother,  Lady  Jane's  bright 
eyes  were  taking  in  the  contents  of  the  little  room. 
It  was  very  simply  furnished,  the  floor  was  bare,  and 
the  walls  were  destitute  of  adornment,  save  over  the 
small  fireplace,  where  hung  a  fine  portrait  of  a  very 
handsome  man  dressed  in  a  rich  court  dress  of  the 


130  LADY  JANE 

time  of  Louis  XIV.  This  elegant  courtier  was 
Mam'selle  Diane's  grandfather,  the  Count  d'Haut- 
reve,  and  under  this  really  fine  work  of  art,  on  the 
small  mantelpiece,  was  some  of  the  handicraft  of  his 
impoverished  granddaughter,  which  fascinated  Lady 
Jane  to  such  a  degree  that  she  had  neither  eyes  nor 
ears  for  anything  else. 

The  center  of  the  small  shelf  was  ornamented  with 
a  tree  made  of  a  variety  of  shades  of  green  wool 
over  a  wire  frame,  and  apparently  hopping  about 
among  the  foliage,  on  little  sealing-wax  legs,  with 
black  bead  eyes  and  sealing-wax  bills,  were  a  number 
of  little  wool  birds  of  every  color  under  the  sun, 
while  at  each  end  of  the  mantel  were  similar  little 
trees,  one  loaded  with  soft  yellow  canaries,  the  other 
with  little  fluffy  white  things  of  a  species  to  puzzle 
an  ornithologist.  Lady  Jane  thought  they  were 
adorable,  and  her  fingers  almost  ached  to  caress 
them. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  they  are !  "  she  sighed,  at  length, 
quite  overcome  with  admiration ;  "  how  soft  and 
yellow!  Why,  they  are  like  real  live  birds,  and 
they  're  ever  so  much  prettier  than  Tony,"  she  added, 
glancing  ruefully  at  her  homely  pet ;  "  but  then  they 
can't  hop  and  fly  and  come  when  you  call  them." 


LADY  JANE  131 

Madame  d'Hautreve  and  Mam'selle  Diane  wit- 
nessed her  delight  with  much  satisfaction.  It 
seemed  a  tardy,  but  genuine,  recognition  of  genius. 

"  There,  you  see,  my  dear,  that  I  was  right,  I  'vei 
always  said  it,"  quavered  the  old  lady.  "  I  've  al- 
ways said  that  your  birds  were  wonderful,  and  the 
child  sees  it ;  children  tell  the  truth,  they  are  sincere 
in  their  praise,  and  when  they  discover  merit,  they 
acknowledge  it  simply  and  truthfully.  I  've  always 
said  that  all  you  needed  to  give  you  a  reputation  was 
recognition, —  I  've  always  said  it,  if  you  remember; 
but  show  her  the  ducks,  my  dear,  show  her  the  ducks. 
I  think,  if  possible,  that  they  are  more  natural  than 
the  others." 

Mam'selle  Diane's  sad,  grave  face  lighted  up  a  lit- 
tle as  she  led  the  child  to  a  table  near  the  side  win- 
dow, which  was  covered  with  pieces  of  colored  flan- 
nel, sticks  of  sealing-wax,  and  bunches  of  soft  yel- 
low wool.  In  this  table  was  a  drawer  which  she 
drew  out  carefully,  and  there  on  little  scalloped  flan- 
nel mats  of  various  colors  sat  a  number  of  small  yel- 
low downy  ducklings. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Jane,  not  able  to  find 
other  words  at  the  moment  to  express  her  wonder 
and  delight. 


132  LADY  JANE 

"  Would  you  like  to  hoW  one?  "  asked  Mam'selle 
Diane,  taking  one  out. 

Lady  Jane  held  out  her  pink  palm,  and  raptur- 
ously smoothed  down  its  little  woolly  back  with  her 
soft  fingers.  "  Oh,  how  pretty,  how  pretty !  "  she 
repeated  in  a  half -suppressed  tone. 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  are  rather  pretty,"  said  Mam'- 
selle Diane  modestly,  "  but  then  they  are  so  useful." 

"  What  are  they  for?  "  asked  Lady  Jane  in  sur- 
prise; she  could  not  think  they  were  made  for  any 
other  purpose  than  for  ornament. 

"  They  are  pen-wipers,  my  dear.  You  see,  the 
pen  is  wiped  with  the  little  cloth  mat  they  are  sitting 
on."  , 

Yes,  they  were  pen-wipers;  Mademoiselle  Diane 
d'Hautreve,  granddaughter  of  the  Count  d'Haut- 
reve,  made  little  woolen  ducklings  for  pen-wipers, 
and  sold  them  quite  secretly  to  Madame  Jourdain, 
on  the  Rue  Royale,  in  order  to  have  bread  for  her 
aged  mother  and  herself. 

Lady  Jane  unknowingly  had  solved  the  financial 
mystery  connected  with  the  d'Hautreve  ladies,  and 
at  the  same  time  she  had  made  another  valuable 
friend  for  herself. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LADY   JANE   FINDS   A    MUSIC-TEACHFR 

ON  the  occasion  of  Lady  Jane's  first  visit  to  the 
d'Hautreve  ladies,  she  had  been  so  interested 
in  Mam'selle  Diane's  works  of  art  that  she  had  paid 
no  attention  whatever  to  the  piano  and  the  flowers. 

But  on  the  second  visit,  while  Tony  was  posing  as 
a  model  (for  suddenly  he  had  developed  great  per- 
fection in  that  capacity),  she  critically  examined  the 
ancient  instrument. 

Presently  she  asked  a  little  timidly,  "  Is  that  what 
you  make  music  on  when  you  sing,  Mam'selle 
Diane?" 

Mam'selle  Diane  nodded  an  affirmative.  She  was 
very  busy  modeling  Tony's  leg  in  sealing-wax. 

"  Is  it  a  piano  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  it 's  a  piano.  Did  you  never  see 
one  before  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  and  I  've  played  on  one.  Mama  used 
to  let  me  play  on  hers ;  but  it  was  large,  very  large, 
and  not  like  this." 

133 


134  LADY  JANE 

"  Where  was  that  ? "  asked  Mam'selle  Diane, 
while  a  swift  glance  passed  between  her  and  her 
mother. 

"  Oh.  that  was  on  the  ranch,  before  we  came 
away." 

"  Then  you  lived  on  a  ranch.  Where  was  it,  my 
dear?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  and  Lady  Jane  looked  puzzled. 
"  It  was  just  the  ranch.  It  was  in  the  country,  and 
there  were  fields  and  fields,  and  a  great  many  horses, 
and  sheep,  and  lambs  —  dear  little  lambs !  " 

"  Then  the  lady  you  live  with  is  not  your  mama," 
said  Mam'selle  Diane  casually,  while  she  twisted  the 
sealing-wax  into  the  shape  of  the  foot. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  's  my  Tante  Pauline.  My  mama 
has  gone  away,  but  Pepsie  says  she  's  sure  to  come 
back  before  Christmas ;  and  it 's  not  very  long  now 
till  Christmas."  The  little  face  grew  radiant  with 
expectation. 

"And  you  like  music?"  said  Mam'selle  Diane, 
with  a  sigh;  she  saw  how  it  was,  and  she  pitied  the 
motherless  darling  from  the  bottom  of  her  tender 
heart. 

"  Did  n't  you  ever  hear  me  sing  when  I  used  to 
stand  close  to  the  window?*"  Lady  Jane  leaned 


LADY  JANE  135 

across  Mam'selle  Diane's  table,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  winsome  smile.  "  I  sang  as  loud  as  I  could, 
so  you  'd  hear  me ;  I  thought,  perhaps,  you  'd  let  me 
in." 

"Dear  little  thing!"  returned  Mam'selle  Diane, 
caressingly.  Then  she  turned  and  spoke  in  French 
to  her  mother :  "  You  know,  mama,  I  wanted  to  ask 
her  in  before,  but  you  thought  she  might  meddle  with 
my  wools  and  annoy  me;  but  she  's  not  troublesome 
at  all.  I  wish  I  could  teach  her  music  when  I  have 
time." 

Lady  Jane  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  gravely 
and  anxiously.  "  I  'm  learning  French,"  she  said ; 
"  Pepsie's  teaching  me,  and  when  I  learn  it  you  can 
always  talk  to  me  in  French.  I  know  some  words 
now." 

Mam'selle  Diane  smiled.  "  I  was  telling  mama 
that  I  should  like  to  teach  you  music.  Would  you 
like  to  learn  ?" 

"  What,  to  play  on  the  piano  ?  "  and  the  child's 
eyes  glistened  with  delight. 

"  Yes,  to  play  and  sing,  both." 

"  I  can  sing  now,"  with  a  little,  shy,  wistful  smile. 

"  Well  then,  sing  for  us  while  I  finish  Tony's  leg, 
and  afterward  I  will  sing  for  you." 


136  LADY  JANE 

"  Shall  I  sing,  '  Sleep,  baby,  sleep '?" 

"  Yes,  anything  you  like." 

Lady  Jane  lifted  her  little  face,  flushed  like  a 
flower,  but  still  serious  and  anxious,  and  broke  into 
a  ripple  of  melody  so  clear,  so  sweet,  and  so  deli- 
cately modulated,  that  Mam'selle  Diane  clasped  her 
hands  in  ecstasy.  She  forgot  her  bunch  of  wool,  the 
difficulty  of  Tony's  breast-feathers,  the  impossible 
sealing-wax  leg,  and  sat  listening  enchanted;  while 
the  old  lady  closed  her  eyes  and  swayed  back  and 
forth,  keeping  time  with  the  dreamy  rhythm  of  the 
lullaby. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  you  have  the  voice  of  an  angel !  " 
exclaimed  Mam'selle  Diane,  when  the  child  finished. 
"  I  must  teach  you.  You  must  be  taught.  Mama, 
she  must  be  taught.  It  would  be  wicked  to  allow 
such  a  voice  to  go  uncultivated !  " 

"  And  what  can  cultivation  do  that  nature  has  n't 
done  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady  querulously.  "  Some- 
times, I  think  too  much  cultivation  ruins  a  voice. 
Think  of  yours,  Diane;  think  of  what  it  was  before 
all  that  drilling  and  training;  think  of  what  it  was 
that  night  you  sang  at  Madame  La  Baronne's,  when 
your  cousin  from  France,  the  Marquis  d'Hautreve, 
said  he  had  never  listened  to  such  a  voice!  " 


LADY  JANE  137 

"  It  was  the  youth  in  it,  mama,  the  youth ;  I  was 
only  sixteen,"  and  Mam'selle  Diane  sighed  over  the 
memory  of  those  days. 

"  It  was  before  all  the  freshness  was  cultivated  out 
of  it.  You  never  sang  so  well  afterward." 

"  I  never  was  as  young,  mama,  and  I  never  had 
such  an  audience  again.  You  know  I  went  back  to 
the  convent;  and  when  I  came  out  things  had 
changed,  and  I  was  older,  and  —  I  had  changed.  I 
think  the  change  was  in  me." 

Here  a  tear  stole  from  the  faded  eyes  that  had 
looked  on  such  triumphs. 

"  It  is  true,  my  dear,  you  never  had  such  an  op- 
portunity again.  Your  cousin  went  back  to  France 
—  and  —  and —  there  were  no  more  fetes  after  those 
days,  and  there  was  no  one  left  to  recognize 
your  talent.  Perhaps  it  was  as  much  the  lack  of 
recognition  as  anything  else.  Yes,  I  say,  as  I 
always  have  said,  that  it's  recognition  you  need 
to  make  you  famous.  It 's  the  same  with  your 
birds  as  with  your  singing.  It 's  recognition  you 
need." 

"  And  perhaps  it 's  wealth  too,  mama,"  said 
Mam'selle  Diane  gently.  "  One  is  forgotten  when 
one  is  poor.  Why,  we  have  been  as  good  as  dead 


138  LADY  JANE 

and  buried  these  twenty  years.     I  believe  there 's 
no  one  left  who  remembers  us." 

"  No,  no,  my  child ;  it 's  not  that,"  cried  the  old 
lady  sharply.  "  We  are  always  d'Hautreves.  It 
was  our  own  choice  to  give  up  society ;  and  we  li  /e 
so  far  away,  it  is  inconvenient, —  so  few  of  our  old 
friends  keep  carriages  now  ;  and  besides,  we  have  no 
day  to  receive.  It  was  a  mistake  giving  up  our  re- 
ception-day ;  since  then  people  have  n't  visited  us." 

"  I  was  thinking,  mama,"  said  Mam'selle  Diane 
timidly,  "  that  if  I  did  as  well  with  my  ducks  next 
year  as  I  have  this,  we  might  have  a  '  day '  again. 
We  might  send  cards,  and  let  our  old  friends  know 
that  we  are  still  alive." 

"  We  might,  we  might,"  said  the  old  lady,  bright- 
ening visibly.  "  We  are  always  d'Hautreves  " ;  then 
her  face  fell  suddenly.  "  But,  Diane,  my  dear,  we 
have  n't  either  of  us  a  silk  dress,  and  it  would  never 
do  for  us  to  receive  in  anything  but  silk." 

"  That 's  true,  mama.  I  never  thought  of  that. 
We  may  not  be  able  to  have  a  '  day/  after  all,"  and 
Mam'selle  Diane  bent  her  head  dejectedly  over  her 
sealing-wax  and  wool. 

While  these  reminiscences  were  exchanged  by  the 
mother  and  daughter,  Lady  Jane,  whose  singing  had 


LADY  JANE  139 

called  them  forth,  slipped  out  into  the  small  garden, 
where,  amid  a  profusion  of  bloom  and  fragrance, 
she  was  now  listening  to  the  warbling  of  a  canary 
whose  cage  hung  among  the  branches  of  a  Marechal 
Niel  rose.  It  was  the  bird  whose  melody  had  en- 
raptured her,  while  she  was  yet  without  the  paradise, 
and  it  was  the  effigy  of  that  same  bird  that  she  had 
seen  on  Mam'selle  Diane's  green  woolen  trees.  He 
was  a  bright,  jolly  little  fellow,  and  he  sang  as  if  he 
were  wound  up  and  never  would  run  down. 

Lady  Jane  listened  to  him  delightedly  while  she 
inspected  the  beds  of  flowers.  It  was  a  little  place, 
but  contained  a  great  variety  of  plants,  and  each 
was  carefully  trained  and  trimmed  ;  and  under  all  the 
seedlings  were  laid  little  sheets  of  white  paper  on 
which  some  seeds  had  already  fallen. 

Lady  Jane  eyed  the  papers  curiously.  She  did 
not  know  that  these  tiny  black  seeds  added  yearly  a 
few  dollars  to  the  d'Hautreve  revenues,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  furnished  the  thrifty  gardener  with  all 
she  needed  for  her  own  use.  But  whose  hands 
pruned  and  trained,  dug  and  watered?  Were  they 
the  hands  of  the  myth  of  a  servant  who  came  so 
early  before  madame  was  out  of  her  bed  —  for  the 
old  aristocrat  loved  to  sleep  late  —  to  clean  the  gal- 


140  LADY  JANE 

lery  and  banquette  and  do  other  odd  jobs  unbecom- 
ing a  d'Hautreve  ? 

Yes,  the  very  same ;  and  Mam'selle  Diane  was  not 
an  early  riser  because  of  sleeplessness,  nor  was  it 
age  that  made  her  slender  hands  so  hard  and  brown. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PEPSIE   IS   JEALOUS 

WHEN  Mam'selle  Diane  joined  Lady  Jane  in 
the  garden,  she  had  gained  her  mother's  con- 
sent to  give  the  child  a  music  lesson  once  a  week. 
The  old  lady  had  been  querulous  and  difficult;  she 
had  discussed  and  objected,  but  finally  Mam'selle 
Diane  had  overcome  her  prejudices. 

"  You  don't  know  what  kind  of  people  her  rela- 
tives are,"  the  old  lady  said,  complainingly,  "  and  if 
we  once  open  our  doors  to  the  child  the  aunt  may  try 
to  crowd  in.  We  don't  want  to  make  any  new  ac- 
quaintances. There  's  one  satisfaction  we  still  have, 
that,  although  we  are  poor,  very  poor,  we  are  always 
d'Hautreves,  and  we  always  have  been  exclusive,  and 
I  hope  we  always  shall  be.  As  soon  as  we  allow 
those  people  to  break  down  the  barrier  between  us, 
they  will  rush  in  on  us,  and,  in  a  little  while,  they 
will  forget  who  we  are." 

"  Never  fear,  mama;  if  the  aunt  is  as  well  bred  as 
141 


142  LADY  JANE 

the  child,  she  will  not  annoy  us.  If  we  wish  to 
know  her,  we  shall  probably  have  to  make  the  first 
advances,  for,  judging  by  the  child,  they  are  not 
common  people.  I  have  never  seen  so  gentle  and 
polite  a  little  girl.  I  'm  sure  she  '11  be  no  trouble." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Children  are  natural 
gossips,  and  she  is  very  intelligent  for  her  age.  She 
will  notice  everything,  and  the  secret  of  your  birds 
will  get  out." 

"  Well,  mama  dear,  if  you  feel  that  she  will  be  an 
intrusion  upon  our  privacy,  I  won't  insist;  but  I 
should  so  like  to  have  her,  just  for  two  hours,  say, 
once  a  week.  It  would  give  me  a  new  interest;  it 
would  renew  my  youth  to  hear  her  angelic  little  voice 
sometimes." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you  must  have  your  way,  Diane, 
as  you  always  do.  Young  people  nowadays  have  no 
respect  for  the  prejudices  of  age.  We  must  yield 
all  our  traditions  and  habits  to  their  new-fashioned 
ideas,  or  else  we  are  severe  and  tyrannical." 

"  Oh,  mama,  dear  mama,  I  'm  sure  you  're  a  lit- 
tle, just  a  little,  unkind  now,"  said  Mam'selle  Diane, 
soothingly.  "  I  '11  give  it  up  at  once  if  you  really 
wish  it ;  but  I  don't  think  you  do.  I  'm  sure  the 
child  will  interest  you ;  besides,  I  'm  getting  on  so 


LADY  JANE  143 

well  with  the  bird  —  you  would  n't  have  me  give  up 
my  model,  would  you  ?  "  . 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear.  If  you  need  her,  let 
her  come.  At  least  you  can  try  for  a  while,  and  if 
you  find  her  troublesome,  and  the  lessons  a  task, 
you  can  stop  them  when  you  like." 

When  this  not  very  gracious  consent  was  obtained, 
Mam'selle  Diane  hastened  to  tell  Lady  Jane  that,  if 
her  aunt  approved,  she  could  come  to  her  every  Sat- 
urday, from  one  to  three,  when  she  would  teach  her 
the  piano,  as  well  as  singing ;  and  that  after  the  les- 
son, if  she  liked  to  remain  awhile  in  the  garden  with 
the  birds  and  flowers,  she  was  at  liberty  to  do  so. 

Lady  Jane  fairly  flew  to  tell  Pepsie  the  good  news ; 
but,  much  to  her  surprise,  her  merry  and  practical 
friend  burst  into  tears  and  hid  her  face  on  the  table 
among  the  pecan  shells. 

"  Why,  Pepsie  —  dear,  dear  Pepsie,  what  ails 
you?  "  cried  Lady  Jane,  in  an  agony  of  terror,  "  tell 
me  what  ails  you  ?  "  and,  dropping  Tony,  she  laid 
her  little  face  among  the  shells  and  cried  too. 

"  I  'm  —  I  'm  —  jealous,"  s.aid  Pepsie,  looking  up 
after  a  while,  and  rubbing  her  eyes  furiously. 
"  I  'm  a  fool,  I  know,  but  I  can't  help  it ;  I  don't 
want  her  to  have  you.  I  don't  want  you  to  go 


144  LADY  JANE 

there.  Those  fine,  proud  people  will  teach  you  to 
look  down  on  us.  We  're  poor,  my  mother  sells  pra- 
lines, and  the  people  that  live  behind  that  green  fence 
are  too  proud  and  fine  to  notice  any  one  in  this  street. 
They  Ve  lived  here  ever  since  I  was  born,  and  no 
one  's  seen  them,  because  they  Ve  kept  to  themselves 
always ;  and  now,  when  I  Ve  just  got  you  to  love, 
they  want  to  take  you  away,  they  want  £o  teach  you 
to  —  despise  —  us !  "  and  Pepsie  stumbled  over  the 
unusual  word  in  her  passionate  vehemence,  while  she 
still  cried  and  rubbed  angrily. 

"  But  don't  cry,  Pepsie,"  entreated  Lady  Jane. 
"  I  don't  love  Mam'selle  Diane  as  well  as  I  love 
you.  It 's  the  music,  the  singing.  Oh,  Pepsie,  dear, 
dear  Pepsie,  let  me  learn  music,  and  I  '11  be  good  and 
love  you  dearly! " 

"  No, —  no,  you  won't,  you  won't  care  any  more 
for  me,"  insisted  Pepsie,  the  little  demon  of  jealousy 
raging  to  such  a  degree  that  she  was  quite  ready  to 
be  unjust,  as  well  as  unreasonable. 

"  Are  you  cross  at  me,  Pepsie?  "  and  Lady  Jane 
crept  almost  across  the  table  to  cling  tearfully  to  her 
friend's  neck.  "  Don't  be  cross,  and  I  won't  go  to 
Mam'selle  Diane.  I  won't  learn  music,  and,  Pepsie, 
dear,  I  '11  —  I  '11  —  give  you  Tony !  " 


LADY  JANE  145 

This  was  the  extreme  of  renunciation,  and  it 
touched  the  generous  heart  of  the  girl  to  the  very 
quick.  "  You  dear  little  angel !  "  she  cried  with  a 
sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  clasping  and  kissing  the 
child  passionately.  "  You  're  as  sweet  and  good  as 
you  can  be,  and  I  'm  wicked  and  selfish !  Yes, 
wicked  and  selfish.  It 's  for  your  good,  and  I  'm 
trying  to  keep  you  away.  You  ought  to  hate  me  for 
king  so  mean." 

At  this  moment  Tite  Souris  entered,  and,  seeing 
tie  traces  of  tears  on  her  mistress's  cheeks,  broke 
oit  in  stern,  reproachful  tones. 

"  Miss  Lady,  what 's  you  be'n  a-doin'  to  my  Miss 
Peps'  ?  You  done  made  her  cry.  I  see  how  she  's 
be'r  a-gwine  on.  You  jes'  look  out,  or  her  ma  '11 
git  a'ter  you;  ef  yer  makes  dat  po'  crooked  gal  cry 
data-way." 

"Hush,  Tite,"  cried  Pepsie,  "  you  need  n't  blame 
Miss  Lady.  It  was  my  fault.  I  was  wicked  and 
selfish,  I  did  n't  want  her  to  go  to  Mam'selle  Diane. 
I  wis  jealous,  that 's  all." 

"  Pepsie  cried  because  she  thought  I  would  n't 
love  her,"  put  in  Lady  Jane,  in  an  explanatory  tone, 
quits  ignoring  Tite's  burst  of  loyalty.  "  Mam'selle 
Diane  is  nobility  —  French  nobility  —  and  Pepsie 


146  LADY  JANE 

thought  I  'd  be  proud,  and  love  Mam'selle  best, — 
did  n't  you,  Pepsie  ?  " 

"  Now,  jes'  hear  dat  chile,"  cried  Tite,  scornfully. 
"If  dey  is  nobil'ty,  dey  is  po'  white  trash.     Shore  's 
I  live,  dat  tall  lean  one  wat  look  lak  a  graveyard  fig- 
ger,  she  git  outen  her  bed  'fore  sun-up,  an'  brick 
her  banquette  her  own  se'f.     I  done  seed  her,  om 
mornin';  she  war  a-scrubbin'  lak  mad.     An'  bress 
yer,  honey,  she  done  had  a  veil  on ;  so  no  one  woi't 
know  her.     Shore  's  I  live,  she  done  brick  her  bm- 
quette  wid  a  veil  on." 

"  If  she  cleans  the  banquette  herself,  they  must  be 
very  poor,"  was  Pepsie's  logical  conclusion.  "  Per- 
haps, after  all,  they  're  not  so  proud;  only  they  don't 
want  people  to  know  how  poor  they  are.  And,  Tite, 
don't  you  tell  that  on  the  poor  lady.  You  kno'w  it 's 
just  one  of  your  stories  about  her  having  a  veil  on. 
It  may  have  been  some  one  else.  You  could  nt  tell 
who  it  was,  if  she  had  a  veil  on,  as  you  say." 

This  argument  did  not  in  the  least  shake  Tite 
Souris  in  her  conviction  that  she  had  seen  the  g*and-< 
daughter  of  the  Count  d'Hautreve  bricking  hei  ban- 
quette before  "  sun-up  "  with  a  veil  over  her  fice. 

However,  Lady  Jane  and  Pepsie  were  reconciled, 
and  the  little  cripple,  to  show  her  confidence  in  the 


LADY  JANE  147 

child's  affection,  was  now  as  anxious  to  have  her  go 
to  Mam'selle  Diane  and  learn  music,  as  she  was 
averse  to  it  before. 

"  Yes,  Lady  dear,  I  want  you  to  learn  to  play  on 
the  piano,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  been  thinking 
of,"  said  Pepsie  as  they  leaned  confidentially  toward 
each  other  across  the  table,  "  mama  has  some  money 
in  the  bank.  She  's  been  saving  it  to  get  something 
for  me.  You  know,  she  does  everything  I  want  her 
to  do.  I  wanted  to  learn  to  read,  and  she  had  a 
teacher  come  to  me  every  day  until  I  could  read  and 
write  very  well,  so  I  'm  sure  she  '11  do  this,  if  I  want 
her  to;  and  this  is  what  it  is:  She  must  buy  a 
piano  to  put  right  there  in  that  space  next  to  bed." 

"  For  me  to  play  on?  Oh,  Pepsie,  how  lovely!  " 
and  Lady  Jane  clasped  her  hands  with  delight. 

"  And  you  can  practise  all  the  time,"  continued  the 
practical  Pepsie.  "  You  know,  if  you  ever  learn 
music  well  you  must  practise  a  great  deal.  Cousin 
Marie  practised  three  hours  a  day  in  the  convent. 
And  then,  when  you  are  grown  up,  you  '11  sing  in  the 
cathedral,  and  earn  a  great  deal  of  money;  and  you 
can  buy  a  beautiful  white  satin  dress,  all  trimmed 
down  the  front  with  lace,  and  they  will  ask  you  to 
sing  in  the  French  Opera,  on  Rue  Bourbon;  and 


148  LADY  JANE 

every  one  will  bring  you  flowers,  and  rings  and 
bracelets,  and  jewels,  and  you  '11  be  just  like  a 
queen." 

"  And  sit  on  a  throne,  and  wear  a  crown  ?  "  gasped 
Lady  Jane,  her  eyes  wide  and  sparkling,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  over  the  glories  of  Pepsie's  riotous 
imagination. 

"  Yes,"  said  Pepsie.  Now  that  she  had  started 
she  meant  to  give  full  rein  to  her  fancy.  "  And 
every  one  will  be  ready  to  worship  you,  and  you  'H 
ride  out  in  a  blue  carriage,  with  eight  white  horses. ' 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  interrupted  Lady  Jane  rapturously ; 
"  and  you  '11  go  with  me,  and  it  will  be  just  as  good 
as  riding  in  Tante  Modeste's  milk  cart." 

"  Better,  much  better,"  agreed  Pepsie,  quite  will- 
ing, in  her  present  mood,  to  admit  that  there  was 
something  better;  "and  then  you'll  have  a  big,  big 
house  in  the  country,  with  grass,  and  trees,  and 
flowers,  and  a  fountain  that  will  tinkle,  tinkle  all  the 
time." 

"  And  you  and  Mama  Madelon  will  live  with  me 
always."  Here  a  sudden  shadow  passed  over  the 
bright  little  face,  and  the  wide  eyes  grew  very  wist- 
ful. "  And,  Pepsie,  perhaps  God  will  let  papa  and 
mama  come  and  live  with  me  again." 


'YES,    LADY   DEAR,    I   WANT   YOU   TO   LEARN    TO   PLAY   ON   THE   PIANO, 
AND  I  'LL  TELL  YOU   WHAT  I  \7E  BEEN  THINKING  OF,"   SAID  PEPSIE 


LADY  JANE  149 

"  Perhaps  so,  dear,"  returned  Pepsie  with  quick 
sympathy.  "  When  I  say  my  prayers,  I  '11  ask." 

Presently  Lady  Jane  said  softly,  with  an  anxious 
glance  at  Pepsie,  "  You  know,  you  told  me  that 
mama  might  come  back  before  Christmas.  It 's 
nearly  Christmas,  is  n't  it  ?  Oh,  I  wish  I  could 
know  if  she  was  coming  back!  Can't  you  ask  your 
cards,  Pepsie?  Perhaps  they  '11  tell  if  she  '11  come." 

"I'll  try,"  replied  Pepsie,  "yes,  I'll  try;  but 
sometimes  they  won't  tell." 

When  Lady  Jane  asked  permission  of  Madame 
Jozain  to  study  music  with  Mam'selle  Diane,  Xante 
Pauline  consented  readily.  In  fact,  she  was  over- 
joyed. It  was  no  common  honor  to  have  one's  niece 
instructed  by  a  d'Hautreve,  and  it  was  another 
feather  in  her  much  beplumed  cap.  By  and  by  peo- 
ple would  think  more  of  her  and  treat  her  with 
greater  consideration.  When  she  was  once  intimate 
with  the  d'Hautreve  ladies,  the  neighbors  would  n't 
dare  turn  the  cold  shoulder  to  her ;  for  through  their 
interest  in  the  child  she  expected  to  gain  a  foothold 
for  herself;  but  she  had  yet  to  learn  how  very  ex- 
clusive a  d'Hautreve  could  be,  under  certain  circum- 
stances. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
LADY  JANE'S  DANCING-MASTER 

AMONG  all  Lady  Jane's  friends  there  was  no 
one  who  congratulated  her  on  her  good  for- 
tune with  half  the  enthusiasm  and  warmth  displayed 
by  little  Gex. 

"  Veil,  veil,  my  dear  leetle  lady,"  he  said,  rubbing 
his  small  hands  delightedly.  "  Vhy,  you  are  in 
luck,  and  no  mistake!  To  have  such  a  teacher  for 
the  music  as  Mam'selle  Diane  d'Hautreve  is  as  good 
as  a  fortune  to  you.  She  '11  give  you  the  true  style, 
—  the  style  of  the  French  nobility,  the  only  style 
vhat  is  good.  I  know  just  vhat  that  is.  Peoples 
think  old  Gex  knows  nothing ;  but  they  're  mistaken, 
leetle  lady ;  they  're  mistaken.  They  don't  know 
vhat  I  vas  once.  There  is  n't  nothing  in  music  that 
Gex  has  n't  heard.  I  've  seen  everything  fine,  and 
I  've  heard  everything  fine,  vhen  I  used  to  be  alvays 
at  the  French  opera." 

"  Oh,  were  you  in  the  French  opera?  "  interrupted 
150 


LADY  JANE;  151 

Lady  Jane,  with  sparkling  eyes ;  "  that 's  where  Pep- 
sie  says  I  shall  sing,  and  I  'm  going  to  have  flowers 
and  —  and  a  throne,  and — -oh,  I  don't  remember; 
but  everything,  everything!"  she  added  impres- 
sively, summing  it  all  up  in  one  blissful  whole. 

"  Veil,  I  should  n't  vonder,  I  should  n't  vender," 
said  Gex,  looking  at  her  proudly,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  much  like  an  antiquated  crow,  "  for  you  've 
got  one  voice  already  vhat  vould  make  soft  the  heart 
of  one  stone." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gex,  where  did  you  hear  me  sing?" 
and  Lady  Jane  looked  at  him  with  grave  surprise. 
"  I  never  sang  for  any  one  but  Pepsie,  and  Mam'selle 
Diane,  and  you  were  n't  there." 

"  But  I  've  heard  you  sing ;  I  've  heard  you,  my 
leetle  lady,"  insisted  the  old  man,  with  twinkling 
eyes.  "  It  vas  one  morning  vhen  you  vas  a-singing 
vith  Mam'selle  Diane,  outside  on  the  banquette.  I 
stepped  out,  and  there  I  heard  you  sing  like  one  leetle 
bird ;  but  you  did  n't  know  I  vas  a-listening." 

"  No,  I  did  n't  know  it,"  said  Lady  Jane,  smiling 
brightly  again.  "  I  'm  glad  you  heard  me,  and  some 
day  I  '11  sing,  '  Sleep,  baby,  sleep,'  for  you  if  you  'd 
like  to  hear  it." 

Mr.  Gex  assured  her  that  he  would,  and  added  that 


152  LADY  JANE 

he  adored  the  music.  "  I  have  n't  heard  the  fine 
music  for  many  years,"  he  remarked,  with  a  little 
sigh,  "  and  I  used  to  be  just  crazed  for  it ;  but  I  vas 
different  then,  leetle  lady,  I  vas  different;  you 
vould  n't- think  it,  but  I  vas  different." 

'  You  did  n't  wear  a  handkerchef  over  your  ears 
then,  did  you,  Mr.  Gex  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  leetle  lady ;  it  vas  the  ear-ache  vat 
made  me  tie  up  my  ear." 

"  Did  you  wear  an  apron,  and  did  you  sew  ?  "  con- 
tinued Lady  Jane,  very  curious  to  know  in  what 
ways  he  was  different. 

"  Vear  an  apron !  "  exclaimed  Gex,  holding  up  his 
hands.  "  Vhy,  bless  your  leetle  heart,  I  dressed  like 
one  gentleman.  I  vore  the  black  clothes,  fine  and 
glossy.  I  vas  one  neat  leetle  man.  My  hair  vas 
black  and  curly  and,  you  von't  believe  it,  I  'm  afraid 
you  von't  believe  it,  but  I  vore  the  silk  hose,  and 
leetle  fine  shoes  tied  vith  one  ribbon,  and  one  gold 
chain  across  my  vaistcoat,  and  one  ring  on  that  fin- 
ger," and  Gex  touched  one  of  his  hard  and  shrunken 
digits  my  way  of  emphasis. 

"Did  you,  Mr.  Gex, —  oh,  did  you?"  and  Lady 
Jane's  eyes  glistened,  and  her  little  face  was  one 
smile  of  delight.  "  Oh,  how  nice  you  must  have 


LADY  JANE  153 

looked !     But  you  did  n't  have  a  fruit-stall  then  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  no,  indeed ;  I  vas  in  one  fine  busi- 
ness. I  vash  fashionable  then ;  I  vas  one  fine  leetle 
gentleman." 

"  Mr.  Gex,  what  did  you  do  ?  "  cried  Lady  Jane, 
in  a  little,  shrill,  impetuous  voice,  for  her  curiosity 
had  reached  the  climax.  "  I  want  to  know  what  you 
did,  when  you  curled  your  hair  and  wore  a  gold 
chain." 

"  I  vas  one  professeur,  leetle  lady.  I  vas  one  pro- 
fesseur." 

"  One  professeur !  Oh,  what  is  one  professeur?  " 
cried  Lady  Jane  impatiently. 

"  He  is  one  gentleman  vhat  does  teach." 

"  Then  you  taught  music.  Oh,  I  've  guessed  it, — 
you  taught  music,"  and  Lady  Jane  looked  at  him 
admiringly.  "  Now  I  know  why  you  like  it  so 
much!" 

"  No,  no,  leetle  lady.  It  vas  not  the  music.  It 
vas  the  sister  to  the  music;  it  vas  the  dance.  I  vas 
professeur  of  the  dance.  Think  of  that,  of  the 
dance.  So  nimble,  so  quick ;  see,  like  this,"  and  lit- 
tle Gex,  carried  away  by  the  memory  of  his  former 
triumphs,  took  hold  of  the  sides  of  his  apron  and 
made  two  or  three  quaint,  fantastic  steps,  ending 


154  LADY  JANE 

them  with  a  little  pirouette  and  a  low  bow  which 
enchanted  Lady  Jane. 

"  Oh,  how  funny,  how  funny !  Please  do  it  again 
—  won't  you,  Mr.  Gex?  Oh,  do,  do!" 

Gex  smiled  indulgently,  but  shook  his  head. 
"  No,  no,  leetle  lady.  Once  is  enough,  just  to 
show  you  how  nimble  and  quick  one  professeur  of 
the  dance  can  be;  but  then  I  vas  young  and  supple, 
and  full  of  life.  I  vas  running  over  vith  life;  I  vas 
one  fine  leetle  gentleman,  so  springy  and  light,  and  I 
vas  all  the  fashion.  Vould  you  believe  it,  leetle 
lady?  I  had  one  fine  grand  house  on  Rue  Royale, 
and  all  the  rich  peoples,  and  all  the  noblesse,  and  all 
the  leetle  gentlemen  and  the  small  leetle  ladies  like 
you  came  to  the  '  Professeur  Gex '  to  learn  the 
dance." 

"  But  why,  why,  Mr.  Gex,  did  you  leave  the  Rue 
Royale?"  asked  Lady  Jane,  greatly  puzzled  at  his 
changed  condition,  and  anxious  to  know  by  what 
strange  freak  of  destiny  he  had  been  brought  to  sell 
fruit  and  vegetables  in  Good  Children  Street,  to  wear 
an  apron,  and  to  mend  his  own  stockings. 

"  Ah,  veil,  my  leetle  lady,  it  vas  many  things  vhat 
brought  me  to  here,"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh  of  resig- 
nation. "  You  see,  I  did  not  stay  the  fashion.  I  got 


LADY  JANE  155 

old,  and  the  rheumatism  made  me  slow  and  stiff,  and 
I  vas  no  more  such  a  fine,  light  leetle  gentleman.  I 
I  could  not  jump  and  turn  so  nimble  and  quick,  and 
a  new  professeur  came  from  Paris,  and  to  him  vent 
all  my  pupils.  I  had  no  money,  because  I  vas  vairy 
fond  of  good  living  and  I  lived  high  like  one  gentle- 
man ;  and  so  ven  I  vas  old  I  vas  poor,  and  there  vas 
nothing  but  to  sell  the  fruit  and  vegetables  in  Good 
Children  Street." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  what  a  pity !  "  sighed  Lady  Jane 
regretfully.  To  think  that  the  mighty  had  fallen  so 
low  touched  her  loyal  little  heart,  and  brought  the 
tears  of  sympathy  to  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Naiver  mind,  naiver  mind.  You  see  I  vas  old, 
and  I  could  not  teach  the  dance  alvay ;  but  attendez, 
my  leetle  lady,  listen  to  vhat  I  say,"  and  he  clasped 
his  hands  persuasively,  and  turned  his  head  on  one 
side,  his  little  twinkling  eyes  full  of  entreaty. 
"  Vould  you  now,  vould  you  like  to  learn  the  dance  ? 
I  'm  old,  and  I  'm  no  more  so  nimble  and  light,  but 
I  know  the  steps,  all  the  fine  steps,  and  my  leetle 
lady  must  learn  the  dance  some  time.  Von't  you  let 
me  teach  you  how  to  take  the  fine  leetle  steps  ?  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gex,  will  you?"  cried  Lady  Jane, 
jumping  down  from  her  chair,  with  a  flushed,  eager 


156  LADY  JANE 

face,  and  standing  in  front  of  the  little  dancing- 
master.  "  Do,  do !  —  I  'm  all  ready.  Teach  them 
to  me  now !  " 

"  Veil,  that  is  all  right,  stand  as  you  are,  and  I 
vill  begin  just  now,"  said  Gex,  beaming  with  pleas- 
ure, while  he  hurriedly  rolled  his  aprons  up  under 
his  armpits,  and  pushed  his  spectacles  well  on  the 
top  of  his  bald  head.  "  Now,  now,  leetle  lady,  turn 
out  your  toes,  take  hold  of  your  skirt,  just  so. 
Right  foot,  left  foot,  just  so.  Vatch  me.  Right 
foot,  left  foot.  One,  two,  three.  Right  foot,  one, 
two;  left  foot,  one,  two,  three;  half  around,  one, 
two,  three;  just  so,  vatch  me.  Back  again,  half 
around,  one,  two,  one  two  —  oh,  good,  good,  vairy 
good!  My  leetle  lady,  you  vill  learn  the  dance  so 
veil!" 

It  was  a  delicious  picture  that  they  made  in  the 
dingy  little  shop,  surrounded  by  fruit  and  vegetables. 
Lady  Jane,  with  her  yellow  flying  hair,  her  radiant 
rosy  face,  her  gracious  head  coquettishly  set  on  one 
side,  her  sparkling  blue  eyes  fixed  on  Gex,  her  dainty 
little  fingers  holding  out  her  short  skirt,  her  slender, 
graceful  legs  and  tiny  feet  advancing  and  retreating 
in  shy  mincing  steps,  turning  and  whirling  with  a 
graceful  swaying  motion  first  on  one  side,  then  the 


LADY  JANE  157 

other,  right  in  front  of  Gex,  who,  with  a  face  of 
preternatural  gravity,  held  out  his  loose  trousers' 
legs,  and  turned  his  small  brogans  to  the  correct 
angle,  while  he  went  through  all  the  intricate  steps 
of  a  first  dancing-lesson  in  the  quaint,  old-fashioned 
style  of  fifty  years  ago,  every  movement  being 
closely  followed  by  the  child  with  a  grace  and  spirit 
really  charming. 

When  the  lesson  was  over,  and  Lady  Jane  ran  to 
tell  her  friend  of  this  latest  stroke  of  good  fortune, 
Pepsie  showed  all  her  white  teeth  in  a  broad  smile 
of  satisfaction. 

"  Well,  Lady,"  she  said,  "  you  are  a  lucky  child. 
You  've  not  only  found  a  music-teacher,  but  you  've 
found  a  dancing-master." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
LADY  JANE'S  CHRISTMAS  PRESENTS 

CHRISTMAS  came  and  went;  and  whatever 
hopes,  desires,  or  regrets  filled  the  loving  lit- 
tle heart  of  Lady  Jane,  the  child  kept  them  to  her- 
self, and  was  outwardly  as  bright  and  cheerful  as  on 
other  days,  although  Pepsie,  who  watched  her 
closely,  thought  that  she  detected  a  wistfulness  in 
her  eyes,  and,  at  times,  a  sad  note  in  the  music  of 
her  happy  voice.  If  the  affection  that  finds  expres- 
sion in  numerous  Christmas  gifts  can  make  a  child 
contented,  Lady  Jane  had  certainly  no  reason  to  com- 
plain. 

The  first  thing  on  which  her  eyes  fell  when  she 
awoke  was  her  stockings,  the  slender  legs  very  much 
swollen  and  bulged,  hanging  in  madame's  chimney- 
corner,  waiting  to  be  relieved  of  their  undue  expan- 
sion. Even  Raste  —  the  extravagant  and  impecu- 
nious Raste  —  had  remembered  her ;  for  a  very 
dressy  doll,  with  a  French-gilt  bangle  encircling  its 

158 


LADY  JANE  159 

waist  (the  bangle  being  intended  not  for  the  doll,  but 
for  Lady  Jane),  bore  a  card  on  which  was  inscribed 
in  bold  characters,  "  M.  Andraste  Jozain,"  and  un- 
derneath the  name,  "  A  mery  Crismus."  Adraste 
was  very  proud  of  his  English,  and  as  Lady  Jane«was 
more  grateful  than  critical  it  passed  muster.  Then 
there  was  a  basket  of  fruit  from  Gex,  and  beside  the 
basket  nestled  a  little  yellow  duckling  which  came 
from  Mam'selle  Diane,  as  Lady  Jane  knew  without 
looking  at  the  tiny  old-fashioned  card  attached  to  it. 
And,  after  she  had  been  made  happy  at  home,  she 
still  had  another  pleasure  in  store,  for  Pepsie,  wish- 
ing to  witness  the  pleasure  of  her  little  friend,  had 
the  Paichoux  presents,  with  her  own  and  Madelon's, 
beautifully  arranged  on  her  table,  and  carefully  cov- 
ered, until  the  important  moment  of  unveiling. 
Every  Paichoux  had  remembered  Lady  Jane,  and  a 
finer  array  of  picture  books,  dolls,  and  toys  was 
never  spread  before  a  happier  child ;  but  the  presents 
which  pleased  her  most  were  a  small  music  box  from 
Madelon,  a  tiny  silver  thimble  from  Pepsie,  and 
Mam'selle  Diane's  little  duckling.  These  she  kept 
always  among  her  treasures. 

"  The  day  7  like  best,"  said  Pepsie,  after  Lady 
Jane  had  exhausted  all  the  adjectives  expressive  of 


160  LADY  JANE 

admiration,  "  is  the  jour  de  I' an,  New  Year's,  as  you 
call  it.  Then  Tante  Modeste  and  the  children  come 
and  bring  bonbons  and  fireworks,  and  the  street  is 
lighted  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  the  sky  is  full 
of  rockets  and  Roman  candles,  and  there  is  so  much 
noise,  and  every  one  is  merry  —  because  the  New 
Year  has  come." 

At  that  moment,  Tite  Souris  entered  with  an  ex- 
pressive grin  on  her  ebony  face,  and  an  air  of  great 
mystery : 

"  Here  you,  chil'runs,  I  done  got  yer  Crismus ; 
doan'  say  nufin  'bout  it,  'cause  't  ain't  nufin'  much. 
I  ain't  got  no  money  ter  buy  dolls  an'  sech ;  so  I  jes 
bought  yer  boaf  a  '  stage-plank.'  I  lowed  yer  might 
lak  a  '  stage  plank.' ' 

Unfolding  a  large  yellow  paper,  she  laid  a  huge 
sheet  of  coarse  black  ginger-bread  on  the  table 
among  Lady  Jane's  treasures. 

"  Thank  you,  Tite,"  said  Lady  Jane,  eyeing  the 
strange  object  askance.  "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Oh  Lor',  Miss  Lady,  ain't  ye  neber  seed  a  '  stage 
plank  '  ?  It 's  ter  eat.  It 's  good, —  ain't  it,  Miss 
Peps'?" 

"I  don't  know,  Tite;  I  never  ate  one,"  replied 
Pepsie,  smiling  broadly,  "  but  I  dare  say  it 's  good. 


LADY  JANE  161 

It 's  kind  of  you  to  think  of  us,  and  we  '11  try  it  by 
and  by." 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Pepsie,  after  Tite,  who  was 
grinning  with  satisfaction,  had  left  the  room. 
"  What  shall  we  do  with  it?  We  can't  eat  it." 

"  Perhaps  Tony  will,"  exclaimed  Lady  Jane,  eag- 
erly. "  He  will  eat  almost  anything.  He  ate  all 
Tante  Pauline's  shrimps,  the  other  day,  and  he  swal- 
lowed two  live  toads  in  Mam'selle  Diane's  garden. 
Oh,  he 's  got  a  dreadful  appetite.  Tante  Pauline 
says  she  can't  afford  to  feed  him."  And  she  looked 
anxiously  at  her  greedy  pet. 

"  Well,  we  '11  try  him,"  said  Pepsie,  breaking  off  a 
piece  of  the  '  stage  plank '  and  throwing  it  to  Tony. 
The  bird  gobbled  it  down  promptly,  and  then  looked 
for  more. 

Lady  Jane  clapped  her  hands  delightedly.  "  Oh, 
is  n't  Tony  nice  to  eat  it  ?  But  we  must  n't  let  Tite 
know,  because  she  'd  be  sorry  that  we  did  n't  like  it. 
We  '11  keep  it  and  give  it  all  to  Tony,"  and  in  this 
way  Tite's  "  stage  plank  "  was  disposed  of. 

If  Christmas  was  a  merry  day  to  Lady  Jane,  New 
Year's  was  certainly  a  happy  one.  The  Paichoux 
children  came,  as  Pepsie  said  they  would,  loaded  with 
bonbons  and  fireworks,  and  all  day  the  neighborhood 


162  LADY  JANE 

was  lively  with  their  fun  —  and  such  a  dinner  as  they 
brought  with  them !  Lady  Jane  thought  there  never 
could  be  anything  as  pretty  as  the  table  in  Madelon's 
little  room,  loaded,  as  it  was,  with  all  sorts  of  good 
things.  Xante  Modeste  went  home  to  dine  with  her 
husband,  but  the  children  remained  until  the  milk- 
cart  came  for  them  when  it  was  quite  dark. 

After  they  were  all  gone,  and  quiet  was  restored  to 
the  tiny  dwelling,  Lady  Jane  remarked  to  Pepsie  that 
she  thought  New  Year's  was  better  than  Christmas. 

"  But  just  wait,"  said  Pepsie,  smiling  mysteri- 
ously, "just  wait  until  Carnival.  Christmas  and 
New  Year's  are  lovely ;  but  Mardigras  —  oh,  Mardi- 
gras !  there  's  nothing  like  it  in  the  world !  " 

Lady  Jane  wondered  very  much  what  "  Mardi- 
gras "  was,  but  tried  to  wait  patiently  until  that  won- 
derful day  should  arrive.  The  time  did  not  pass 
slowly  to  her,  surrounded  as  she  was  by  tender  care 
and  affection. 

Pepsie  was  teaching  her  to  read  and  sew,  and 
Mam'selle  Diane  was  drilling  her  in  scales, —  al- 
though at  times  Madame  d'Hautreve  grumbled  and 
quavered  about  the  noise,  and  declared  that  the  child 
was  too  young;  for,  stretch  them  all  she  could,  her 
tiny  fingers  would  not  reach  an  octave. 


LADY  JANE  163 

And  then  there  were  the  dancing  lessons,  which 
were  always  a  pleasure,  and  a  constant  source  of 
amusement  in  which  Pepsie  and  Tite  Souris  shared ; 
Pepsie  as  an  enraptured  spectator,  and  Tite  Souris  by 
personating  Mr.  Gex  in  Lady  Jane's  frequent  re- 
hearsals; and  even  Tony  had  caught  the  spirit  of 
Terpsichore,  and  under  Lady  Jane's  constant  instruc- 
tion had  learned  to  take  steps,  to  mince  and  hop  and 
pirouette,  if  not  as  correctly,  at  least  as  gracefully 
as  the  ancient  Professor  Gex. 

Tite  Souris  had  happened  to  pass  Gex's  little  shop 
one  day  while  Lady  Jane  was  taking  her  lesson,  and 
from  that  moment  the  humorous  darky  could  never 
speak  of  the  little  dancing-master  without  loud  ex- 
plosions of  laughter.  "  Oh  Lor',  Miss  Peps',  I  wish 
you  jes'  done  seed  littl'  Mars  Gex,  a-stanin'  up  wid 
he  toes  turn  out  so  he  look  lak  he  o'ny  got  one  foot, 
an'  he  ap'on  roll  up  un'er  he  arms,  an'  he  hands  jes' 
so," — here  Tite  caught  the  sides  of  her  scant  skirt, 
displaying  two  enormous  feet  and  a  pair  of  thin 
black  legs  — "  a-steppin',  an'  a-hoppin'  an'  a-whirlin' 
an'  a-smilin'  wid  he  eyes  shet,  jes'  as  if  he  done  got 
religion,  an'  was  so  happy  he  doan'  know  what'er  do. 
An'  Miss  Lady,  wid  'er  head  on  one  side,  lak  a 
morkin  bird,  a-holdin'  out  'er  littl'  skirt,  an'  a-step- 


1 64  LADY  JANE 

pin',  an'  a-prancin',  for  all  de  worl'  jes'  lak  Mars 
Gex,  an'  a-puttin'  'er  han'  on  'er  bre's',  an'  a-bowin' 
so  er  yaller  bar  all-a-mos'  tech  der  flo'.  Lor',  Lor', 
I  done  mos'  die  a-larfin'.  Such  cuttin's  up  yer  neb- 
ber  did  see !  It 's  might'  funny,  Miss  Peps',  all  dis 
yer  dancin'  an'  a-caperin',  but  I  'se  scared  'bout  Miss 
Lady  wid  all  dem  goin's  on.  I  'm  feared  der  gobble- 
uns  '11  ketch  'er  sum  time,  w'en  'ers  a-steppin'  an' 
a-hoppin',  an'  tote  'er  off  ter  dat  dar  ole  wicked  devil, 
wat  's  watchin'  fer  triflin'  chil'ren  lak  dat,  'cause 
Deacon  Jone  say,  der  devil  '11  git  all  pussuns  wat 
dance,  shore,  shore." 

"  Nonsense,  Tite,  go  away!  "  cried  Pepsie,  laugh- 
ing till  the  tears  came  at  her  handmaid's  droll  panto- 
mime. "If  what  you  say  is  true,  where  do  you 
think  you  '11  go  to  ?  Have  n't  you  been  acting  Mr. 
Gex  for  Miss  Lady,  over  and  over,  when  she  's  been 
repeating  her  dancing-lesson  to  me?  Haven't  you 
been  standing'right  up  on  that  floor,  holding  out  your 
skirt,  and  dancing  back  and  forth,  and  whirling,  and 
prancing,  as  much  like  Mr.  Gex  as  you  possibly 
could  ?  Have  n't  you  now,  Tite  ?  And  I  'm  sure 
the  '  gobble-uns '  would  take  an  ugly  black  thing 
like  you  before  they  would  a  little  angel  like  Miss 
Lady." 


LADY  JANE  165 

"  But  I  war  jes'  a-funnin',  Miss  Peps'.  Date  ole 
devil  know  I  war  jes'  a-funnin' ;  an'  he  ain't  gwine 
ter  tote  me  off  w'en  I  ain't  done  no  harm ;  't  ain't  lak 
I  war  in  earnest,  yer  know,  Miss  Peps'."  And  with 
this  nice  distinction  Tite  comforted  herself  and  went 
on  her  way  rejoicing. 

About  this  time  Madame  Jozain  was  seized  with  a 
sudden  spasm  of  piety  and  took  to  going  to  church 
again.  However,  she  kept  at  a  discreet  distance 
from  Father  Ducros,  who,  at  the  time  of  the  death 
of  the  young  widow,  had  asked  her  some  rather 
searching  questions,  and  several  times  when  he  met 
her  afterwards  remarked  that  she  seemed  to  have 
given  up  church-going.  She  was  very  glad,  there- 
fore, when  about  this  time  she  heard  that  he  had  been 
sent  to  Cuba  on  a  mission,  which  Madame  hoped 
would  detain  him  there  always.  One  Sunday  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  ought  to  take  Lady  Jane  to 
church  with  her,  and  not  allow  her  to  grow  up  like  a 
heathen;  and  besides,  the  child  dressed  in  her  best 
had  such  an  air  of  distinction  that  she  would  add 
greatly  to  the  elegant  appearance  Madame  desired  to 
make. 

Pepsie  had  a  knack  of  dressing  Lady  Jane  as 
Madame  never  could;  so  the  little  girl  was  sent 


1 66  LADY  JANE 

across  the  street  to  be  made  beautiful,  with  flowing 
glossy  hair  and  dainty  raiment.  And  when  Mad- 
ame, dressed  in  one  of  the  young  widow's  elegant 
mourning  suits,  somewhat  changed  to  better  suit  her 
age  and  position,  leading  Lady  Jane  by  the  hand  with 
a  gentle  maternal  air,  limped  slowly  up  the  broad 
aisle  of  the  Cathedral,  she  felt  perfectly  satisfied  with 
herself  and  her  surroundings. 

Lady  Jane  had  never  been  in  a  church  before,  and 
the  immense  interior,  the  grand,  solemn  notes  of  the 
organ,  and  the  heavenly  music  of  the  choir  made  a 
deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  her,  and  opened  up 
to  -her  new  vistas  of  life  through  which  her  pure  lit- 
tle soul  longed  to  stray. 

The  musical  nature  is  often  a  religious  nature,  and 
in  the  child  was  a  deep  vein  of  piety,  which  only 
needed  working  to  produce  the  richest  results ;  there- 
fore, the  greatest  of  all  her  pleasures  from  that  time 
was  to  go  to  church  and  listen  to  the  music,  and 
afterwards  to  tell  Pepsie  of  all  she  had  seen  and  en- 
joyed, and  to  repeat,  as  far  as  it  was  possible  with 
her  small,  sweet  voice,  the  heavenly  strains  of  the 
anthems  she  had  heard. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MARDI-GRAS 

ONE  morning  —  it  was  the  day  before  Mardi- 
Gras  " —  when  Lady  Jane  entered  Pepsie's 
room,  instead  of  finding  her  friend  engaged  in  her 
usual  occupation,  the  table  was  cleared  of  all  that 
pertained  to  business,  and  on  it  was  spread  a  quan- 
tity of  pink  cambric,  which  Pepsie  was  measuring 
and  snipping  with  great  gravity. 

"  Oh,  Pepsie,  what  are  you  making?  "  cried  Lady 
Jane,  greatly  surprised  at  this  display  of  finery. 

"  It 's  a  domino,"  replied  Pepsie  curtly,  her  mouth 
full  of  pins. 

"  A  domino,  a  domino,"  repeated  Lady  Jane. 
"What's  a  domino?  I  never  saw  one:" 

"Of  course,  you  never  saw  one,  because  you  never 
saw  a  Mardi-Gras/ "  said  Pepsie,  removing  the 
pins,  and  smiling  to  herself  as  she  smoothed  the  pat- 
tern on  the  cloth. 

"Mardi-gras!  Is-  it  for  Mardi-gras?"  asked 
Lady  Jane  eagerly.  "  You  might  tell  me  all  about 

167 


1 68  T.ADY  JANE 

it.  I  don't  know  what  it 's  for,"  she  added,  much 
puzzled,  and  somewhat  annoyed  at  Pespie's  air  of  se- 
crecy. 

"  Well,  it 's  for  some  one  to  wear,  Mardi-Gras," 
replied  Pepsie,  still  smiling  serenely,  and  with  an 
exasperating  air  of  mystery. 

"  Oh,  Pepsie  —  who,  who  is  it  for?  "  cried  Lady 
Jane,  pressing  close,  and  putting  both  arms  around 
her  friend's  neck ;  "  tell  me,  please,  do !  If  it 's  a  se- 
cret I  won't  tell." 

"  Oh,  it 's  for  a  little  girl  I  know,"  said  Pepsie, 
cutting  and  slashing  the  cambric  with  the  greatest  in- 
difference, and  evidently  bent  on  keeping  her  own 
counsel. 

Lady  Jane  stood  still  for  a  moment,  letting  her 
arms  fall  from  Pepsie's  neck.  Her  face  was  down- 
cast, and  something  like  a  tear  shone  on  her  lashes ; 
then,  a  little  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  she  climbed 
into  her  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  and, 
leaning  on  her  elbows,  watched  the  absorbed  Pepsie 
silently. 

Pepsie  pinned,  and  snipped,  and  smoothed,  all  the 
while  smiling  with  that  little  air  of  unconcern  which 
so  puzzled  the  child.  Presently,  without  looking  up, 
she  said : 


LADY  JANE  169 

"  Can't  you  guess,  Lady,  who  it 's  for?  " 

"  Is  n't  it  for  Sophie  Paichoux  ?  "  ventured  Lady 
Jane. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Pepsie  decidedly ;  the  one  I  mean 
it  for  is  n't  any  relation  to  me." 

"  Then,  I  don't  know  any  other  little  girl.  Oh, 
Pepsie,  I  can't  guess." 

"  Why,  you  dear,  stupid,  little  goose !  "  cried  Pep- 
sie, laughing  aloud. 

"Oh,  Pepsie.  It  isn't!  is  it?"  and  Lady  Jane's 
eyes  shone  like  stars,  and  her  face  broke  into  a  radi- 
ant smile.  "  Do  you  mean  it  for  me  ?  Really,  do 
you,  Pepsie?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  Who  do  you  think  I  'd  make  it 
for,  if  not  for  you?  " 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  darling  Pepsie !  But  why  did  n't 
you  say  so  just  at  first  ?  Why  —  why  did  you  make 
me,"  she  hesitated  for  a  word,  and  then  added,  "  why 
did  you  make  me  —  jealous  ?  " 

"  I  only  wanted  to  tease  you  a  little,"  laughed  Pep- 
sie. "  I  wanted  to  see  if  you  'd  guess  right  off.  I 
thought  you  'd  know  right  away  that  I  did  n't  love 
any  one  else  well  enough  to  make  a  domino  for  her, 
and  I  wanted  to  try  you,  that  was  all." 

This  rather  ambiguous  explanation  was  quite  sat- 


1 70  LADY  JANE 

isfactory,  and  after  a  great  many  caresses  Pepsie 
went  on  to  tell  that  Tante  Modeste  had  been  there 
very  early,  and  that  she  had  invited  Lady  Jane  to  go 
in  her  milk-cart,  that  afternoon,  up  on  Canal  Street 
to  see  the  King  of  the  Carnival  arrive.  The  cans 
were  to  be  taken  out  of  the  cart,  and  an  extra  seat 
was  to  be  put  in,  so  that  all  the  young  ones  could  take 
part  in  the  glorious  spectacle. 

Then  Pepsie  waited  for  Lady  Jane  to  get  her 
breath  before  she  finished  telling  her  of  Tante  Mod- 
este's  plans  for  the  next  day,  the  long-looked-for 
Mardi-gras. 

The  little  Paichoux  wanted  Lady  Jane  to  see 
everything;  by  some  means  she  must  take  an  active 
part  in  the  festivities;  she  must  be  on  Canal  Street 
not  as  a  spectator,  but  as  an  actor  in  the  gay  scene. 

"  Children  don't  enjoy  it  half  as  well,  at  least 
mine  don't,"  said  Tante  Modeste,  "  if  they  're  cooped 
up  in  a  cart,  or  on  a  gallery,  so  the  best  way  is  to  put 
a  domino  on  them,  and  turn  them  in  with  the  crowd." 

"  But  I  'm  afraid  for  Lady,"  demurred  Pepsie, 
"  she  might  get  frightened  in  such  a  crowd,  or  she 
might  get  lost." 

"  You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  that ;  Tiburce  is  going 
to  take  care  of  my  young  ones,  and  I  've  told  him 


LADY  JANE  171 

that  he  must  hold  fast  to  the  child  all  the  time. 
Then,  Tite  can  go  too ;  I  've  got  an  old  domino 
that  '11  do  for  her,  and  she  can  keep  the  child's  hand 
fast  on  the  other  side.  If  they  keep  together, 
there  's  no  danger." 

"  But  perhaps  Madame  Jozain  won't  allow  her  to 
go  on  Canal  Street." 

"  Yes,  she  will,  she  '11  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  the 
care  of  the  child.  I  just  met  her  coming  from  mar- 
ket, she  had  a  cream  cheese  for  the  little  one.  I 
guess  she  's  pretty  good  to  her,  when  it  does  n't  put 
her  out.  She  says  Madame  Hortense,  the  milliner, 
on  Canal  Street,  is  an  old  friend  of  hers,  and  she  's 
invited  her  to  come  and  sit  on  her  gallery  and  see  the 
show,  and  there  's  no  room  for  children,  so  she  '11 
be  very  glad  to  have  her  niece  taken  care  of,  and  it 's 
so  good  of  me,  and  all  that.  Oh  dear,  dear!  I 
can't  like  that  woman.  I  may  be  wrong,  but  she  's 
a  dose  I  can't  swallow,"  and  Tante  Modeste 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed. 

"  But  Lady's  got  no  domino,"  said  Pepsie  rue- 
fully, "  and  I  'm  afraid  Madame  Jozain  won't  make 
her  one." 

"  Never  mind  saying  anything  to  her  about  it. 
Here  's  two  bits.  Send  Tite  for  some  cambric,  and 


172  LADY  JANE 

I  '11  cut  you  a  pattern  in  a  minute.  I  've  made  so 
many  I  know  all  about  it,  and,  my  dear,  you  can  sew 
it  up  through  the  day.  Have  her  ready  by  nine 
o'clock.  I  '11  be  here  by  nine.  I  'm  going  to  take 
them  all  up  in  the  cart  and  turn  them  out,  and  they 
can  come  back  to  me  when  they  're  tired." 

In  this  way  Tante  Modeste  surmounted  all  diffi- 
culties, and  the  next  morning  Lady  Jane,  completely 
enveloped  in  a  little  pink  domino,  with  a  tiny  pink 
mask  carefully  fastened  over  her  rosy  face,  and  her 
blue  eyes  wide  with  delight  and  wonder  sparkling 
through  the  two  holes,  was  lifted  into  the  milk  cart 
with  the  brood  of  little  Paichoux,  and  with  many 
good-byes  to  poor  forlorn  Pepsie  and  to  Tony,  who 
was  standing  dejectedly  on  one  leg,  the  happy  child 
was  rattled  away  in  the  bright  sunlight,  through  the 
merry,  noisy  crowd,  to  that  center  of  every  delight, 
Canal  Street,  on  Mardi-gras. 

There  was  no  room  for  Tite  Souris  in  the  cart,  so 
that  dusky  maiden,  arrayed  in  the  colors  of  a  demon 
of  darkness,  an  old  red  domino  with  black,  bat-like 
wings,  was  obliged  to  take  herself  to  the  rendezvous, 
near  the  Clay  statue,  by  whatever  means  of  locomo- 
tion she  could  command.  When  the  cart  was  pass- 
ing Rue  Royale,  there  was  Tite  in  her  uncanny  dis- 


LADY  JANE  173 

guise,  flapping  her  black  wings,  and  scuttling  along 
as  fast  as  her  thin  legs  would  carry  her. 

At  last  the  excited  party  in  the  milk  cart  and  the 
model  for  a  diabolical  flying  machine  were  together 
under  Tante  Modeste's  severe  scrutiny,  listening 
with  much-divided  attention  to  her  final  instructions. 

"  Tiburce,  attend  to  what  I  tell  you,"  she  said  im- 
pressively ;  "  you  are  the  eldest  of  the  party,  and  you 
must  take  care  of  the  little  ones,  especially  of  Lady 
Jane ;  keep  her  hand  in  yours  all  the  time,  mind  what 
I  say  —  don't  let  go  of  her.  And  you,  Tite,  keep  on 
the  other  side  and  hold  her  hand  fast.  Sophie,  you 
can  go  in  front  with  the  two  smallest,  and  the  others 
can  follow  behind.  Now  keep  together,  and  go 
along  decently,  no  running  or  racketing  on  the  street, 
and  as  soon  as  the  procession  passes,  you  had  better 
come  back  to  me.  You  will  be  tired  and  ready  to  go 
home.  And  Tite,  remember  what  Miss  Pepsie  told 
you  about  Miss  Lady.  If  you  let  anything  happen 
to  her,  you  'd  better  go  and  drown  yourself." 

Tite,  with  her  wings  poised  for  flight,  promised 
everything,  evfen  to  drowning  herself  if  necessary; 
and  before  Tante  Modeste  had  climbed  into  her  cart 
the  whole  brood  had  disappeared  amongst  the  mot- 
ley crowd. 


174  LADY  JANE 

At  first,  Lady  Jane  was  a  little  frightened  at  the 
noise  and  confusion;  but  she  had  a  brave  little  heart, 
and  clung  tightly  to  Tiburce  on  one  side  and  Tite  on 
the  other.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  quite  reas- 
sured and  as  happy  as  any  of  the  merry  little  imps 
around  her. 

It  was  delightful;  she  seemed  to  be  carried  along 
in  a  stream  of  riotous  life,  all  disguised  and  deco- 
rated to  suit  their  individual  fancies.  There  were 
demons  and  angels,  clowns  and  monks,  imps  and 
fairies,  animals  and  birds,  fish  and  insects  —  in  fact, 
everything  that  the  richest  imagination  could  devise. 

At  first,  Tite  Souris  ambled  along  quite  decor- 
ously, making  now  and  then  a  little  essay  at  flying 
with  her  one  free  wing,  which  gave  her  a  curious 
one-sided  appearance,  provoking  much  mirth  among 
the  little  Paichoux;  but  at  length  restraint  became 
irksome,  and  finally  impossible.  She  could  bear  it 
no  longer,  even  if  she  died  for  it.  Ignoring  all  her 
promises,  and  the  awful  reckoning  in  store  for  her, 
with  one  bound  for  freedom  she  tore  herself  from 
Lady  Jane's  clinging  hand  and,  flapping  her  hideous 
wings,  plunged  into  the  crowd,  and  was  instantly 
swallowed  up  in  the  vortex  of  humanity  that  whirled 
everywhere. 


LADY  JANE  175 

The  procession  was  coming,  the  crowd  grew  very 
dense,  and  they  were  pulled,  and  pushed,  and  jostled ; 
but  still  Tiburce,  who  was  a  strong,  courageous  boy, 
held  his  ground,  and  landed  Lady  Jane  on  a  window- 
sill,  where  she  could  have  a  good  view.  The  other 
Paichoux,  under  the  generalship  of  Sophie,  came  up 
to  form  a  guard,  and  so,  in  a  very  secure  and  com- 
fortable position,  in  spite  of  Tite's  desertion  Lady 
Jane  saw  the  procession  of  King  Rex,  and  his  royal 
household. 

When  Tiburce  told  her  that  the  beautiful  Bceuf 
gras,  decorated  so  gaily  with  flowers  and  ribbons, 
would  be  killed  and  eaten  afterward,  she  almost  shed 
tears,  and  when  he  further  informed  her  that  King 
Rex  was  no  King  at  all,  only  a  citizen  dressed  as  a 
King  in  satin  and  velvet,  and  feathers,  she  doubted 
it,  and  still  clung  to  the  illusion  that  he  must  sit  al- 
ways on  a  throne,  and  wear  a  crown,  according  to 
the  traditions  of  Mr.  Gex. 

Now  that  the  procession  was  over,  all  might  have 
gone  well  if  Tiburce  had  held  out  as  he  began;  but 
alas !  in  an  evil  moment,  he  yielded  to  temptation  and 
fell. 

They  were  on  their  way  back  to  Tante  Modeste, 
quite  satisfied  with  all  they  had  seen,  when  they  came 


176  LADY  JANE 

upon  a  crowd  gathered  around  the  door  of  a  fash- 
ionable club.  From  the  balcony  above  a  party  of 
young  men,  who  were  more  generous  than  wise, 
were  throwing  small  change,  dimes  and  nickels,  into 
the  crowd,  that  the  rabble  might  scramble  for  them ; 
and  there  right  in  the  midst  of  the  seething  mass  was 
Tite  Souris,  her  domino  hanging  in  rags,  her  wings 
gone,  and  her  whole  appearance  very  dilapidated  and 
disorderly ;  but  the  demon  of  greed  was  gleaming  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  teeth  were  showing  in  a  fierce, 
white  line,  while  she  plunged  and  struggled  and  bat- 
tled for  the  root  of  all  evil. 

Tiburce's  first  intention  was  to  make  a  detour  of 
the  crowd;  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  do  so  the 
gleam  of  a  dime  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  caught 
his  eye,  and,  overcome  by  the  spirit  of  avarice,  he 
forgot  everything,  and  dropped  Lady  Jane's  hand  to 
make  a  dive  for  it. 

Lady  Jane  never  knew  how  it  happened,  but  in  an 
instant  she  was  whirled  away  from  the  Paichoux, 
swept  on  with  the  crowd  that  a  policeman  was  driv- 
ing before  him,  and  carried  she  knew  not  where. 

At  first  she  ran  hither  and  thither,  seizing  upon 
every  domino  that  bore  the  least  resemblance  to  her 


LADY  JANE  177 

companions,  and  calling  Tiburce,  Sophie,  Nanette,  in 
heartrending  tones,  until  quite  exhausted  she  sank 
down  in  a  doorway,  and  watched  the  crowd  surge 
past  her. 


i8o  LADY  JANE 

sounded  like  some  small  creature  in  pain,  but  he  only 
saw  a  little  figure  in  a  soiled  pink  domino  standing 
in  the  next  doorway,  some  little  street  gamin,  he  sup- 
posed, and  without  further  notice  he  passed  her  and 
followed  his  companions  up  the  steps. 

It  was  the  boy  who  gave  Lady  Jane  the  blue  heron, 
and  he  had  passed  her  without  seeing  her;  she  had 
called  to  him,  and  he  had  not  heard  her.  This  was 
too  much,  she  could  not  bear  it,  and  withdrawing 
again  into  her  retreat  she  sat  down  and  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

For  a  long  while  she  cried  silently,  then  she  fell 
asleep  and  forgot  for  a  time  all  her  troubles.  When 
she  woke  a  rude  man  was  pulling  her  to  her  feet,  and 
telling  her  to  wake  up  and  go  home ;  he  had  a  stick 
and  bright  buttons  on  his  coat.  "  A  young  one  tired 
out  and  gone  to  sleep,"  he  muttered,  as  he  went  on 
his  way. 

Then  Lady  Jane  began  to  think  that  that  place  was 
no  longer  a  safe  refuge ;  the  man  with  the  stick  might 
come  back  and  beat  her  if  she  remained  there,  so  she 
started  out  and  crept  along  close  to  the  high  build- 
ings. She  wondered  if  it  was  near  night,  and  what 
she  should  do  when  it  got  dark.  Oh,  if  Tante  Mo- 
deste,  Tiburce,  or  Madelon  would  only  come  for  her, 


SHE  CRIED  OUT   PITIFULLY,   "  IT  *S  LADY  JANE  : 


LADY  JANE  181 

or  Tante  Pauline, —  even  she  would  be  a  welcome 
sight,  and  she  would  not  run  away  from  .Raste,  al- 
though she  detested  him;  he  pulled  her  hair  and 
teased  her,  and  called  her  "  My  Lady,"  but  still  if  he 
should  come  just  then  she  would  not  run  away  from 
him,  she  would  ask  him  to  take  her  home. 

At  that  moment  some  one  behind  her  gave  her 
domino  a  violent  pull,  and  she  looked  around  wildly ; 
an  imp  in  yellow  and  black  was  following  her.  A 
strand  of  her  bright  hair  had  escaped  from  her  hood 
and  fallen  over  her  back;  he  had  it  in  his  hand,  and 
was  using  it  as  a  rein.  "  Get  up,  my  little  nag,"  he 
was  saying,  in  a  rude,  impertinent  voice;  "come, 
trot,  trot."'  At  first  she  tried  to  jerk  her  hair  away ; 
she  was  so  tired  and  frightened  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand,  but  she  turned  on  her  tormentor  and 
bade  him  leave  hej  alone. 

"  I  'm  going  to  pull  off  your  mask,"  he  said,  "  and 
see  if  you  ain't  Mary  O'Brien."  He  made  a  clutch 
at  her,  but  Lady  Jane  evaded  it ;  all  the  spirit  in  her 
was  aroused  by  this  assault,  and  the  usually  gentle 
child  was  transformed  into  a  little  fury.  "  Don't 
touch  me,"  she  cried ;  "  don't  touch  me," —  and  she 
struck  the'  yellow  and  black  imp  full  in  the  face  with 
all  her  strength. 


182  LADY  JANE 

Now  this  blow  was  the  signal  for  a  battle,  in  which 
Lady  Jane  was  sadly  worsted,  for  in  a  few  moments 
the  boy,  who  was  older  and  of  course  stronger,  had 
torn  her  domino  from  her  in  ribbons,  had  snatched 
off  her  mask,  and  pulled  the  hood  from  her  head, 
which  unloosened  all  her  beautiful  hair,  allowing  it 
to  fall  in  a  golden  shower  far  below  her  waist,  and 
there  she  stood  with  flashing  eyes  and  burning 
cheeks,  quivering  and  panting  in  the  midst  of  a 
strange,  rude  crowd,  like  a  little  wild  hunted  animal 
suddenly  brought  to  bay. 

At  that  moment  she  saw  some  one  leap  on  to  the 
banquette,  and  with  one  well-aimed  and  dexterous 
kick  send  her  enemy  sprawling  into  the  gutter,  while 
all  the  bystanders  shouted  with  laughter. 

It  was  Gex,  little  Gex,  who  had  come  to  her  res- 
cue, and  never  did  fair  lady  cling  with  greater  joy 
and  gratitude  to  the  knight  who  had  delivered  her 
from  the  claws  of  a  dragon,  than  did  Lady  Jane  to 
the  little  horny  hand  of  the  ancient  professeur  of 
the  dance. 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak ;  she  was  so  ex- 
hausted with  her  battle  and  so  overcome  with  delight 
that  she  had  no  voice  to  express  her  feelings. 

Gex  understood  the  situation,  and  with  great  po- 


LADY  JANE  183 

liteness  and  delicacy  led  her  into  a  pharmacy  near, 
smoothed  her  disordered  dress  and  hair,  and  gave 
her  a  glass  of  soda. 

This  so  revived  the  little  lady  that  she  found  voice 
to  say :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Gex,  how  did  you  know  where  I 
was?" 

"  I  did  n't,  I  did  n't,"  replied  Gex  tremulously. 
"  It  vas  vhat  you  call  one  accident.  I  vas  just  go- 
ing down  the  Rue  Royale,  vas  just  turning  the  cor- 
ner, I  vas  on  my  vay  home.  I  'd  finished  my  Mardi- 
gras,  all  I  vant  of  the  noise  and  foolishness,  and  I 
vas  going  back  to  Rue  des  Bons  En f ants,  vhen  I 
hears  one  leetle  girl  cry  out,  and  I  look  and  saw  the 
yellow  devil  pull  down  my  leetle  lady's  hair.  Oh, 
bon,  bon,  did  n't  I  give  him  one  blow !  —  did  n't  I 
send  him  in  the  gutter  flying!" — and  Gex  rubbed 
his  hands  and  chuckled  with  delight.  "  And  how 
lucky  vas  I  to  have  one  accident  to  find  my  leetle 
lady,  vhen  she  vas  in  trouble !  " 

Then  Lady  Jane  and  Mr.  Gex  turned  down  Rue 
Royale,  and  while  she  skipped  along  holding  his 
hand,  her  troubles  all  forgotten,  she  told  him  how  it 
happened  that  she  had  been  separated  from  Tiburce, 
and  of  all  her  subsequent  misadventures. 

Presently,  Gex  stopped  before  a  neat  little  restaur- 


1 84  LADY  JANE 

ant,  whose  window  presented  a  very  tempting  ap- 
pearance, and,  looking  at  Lady  Jane  with  a  broad, 
inviting  smile,  said,  "  I  should  like  to  know  if  my 
leetle  lady  vas  hungry.  It  is  past  four  of  the  clock, 
and  I  should  like  to  give  my  leetle  lady  von  Mardi- 
gras  dinner." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Gex,"  cried  Lady  Jane,  de- 
lightedly, for  the  smell  of  the  savory  food  appealed 
to  her  empty  stomach.  "  I  'm  so  hungry  that  I  can't 
wait  until  I'get  home." 

"Veil,  you  sha'n't;  this  is  one  nice  place,  vairy 
chic  and  fashionable,  fit  for  one  leetle  lady,  and  you 
shall  see  that  Gex  can  order  one  fine  dinner,  as  veil  as 
teach  the  dance." 

When  the  quaint  little  old  man,  in  his  antiquated 
black  suit,  a  relic  of  other  and  better  days,  entered 
the  room,  with  the  beautiful  child,  rosy  and  bare- 
headed, her  yellow  hair'  flying  out  like  spun  silk,  and 
her  dainty  though  disordered  dress  plainly  showing 
her  superior  position,  every  eye  was  turned  upon 
him,  and  Gex  felt  the  stirrings  of  old  pride  and  am- 
bition, as  he  placed  a  chair  with  great  ceremony,  and 
lifted  Lady  Jane  into  it.  Then  he  drew  out  his 
spectacles  with  much  dignity,  and,  taking  the  card  the 


LADY  JANE  185 

waiter  handed  him,  waited,  pencil  poised,  for  the  or- 
ders of  the  young  lady. 

"  If  you  please,"  he  said,  with  a  formal  bow,  and 
an  inviting  smile,  "  to  tell  me  vhat  you  prefair." 

Lady  Jane  frowned  and  bit  her  lips  at  the  respon- 
sibility of  deciding  so  important  a  matter;  at  length 
she  said,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  charming  smile : 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  Gex,  I  '11  take  some^ — some 
ice  cream." 

"  But  first,  my  leetle  lady, — •  but  first,  one  leetle 
plat  of  soup,  and  the  fish  with  sauce  verte,  and  one 
leetle  bird, —  just  one  leetle  bird  vith  the  petit  pois  — 
and  one  fine,  good,  leetle  salad.  How  vould  that 
suit  my  leetle  lady?*" 

"  And  ice  cream  ?  "  questioned  Lady  Jane,  lean- 
ing forward  with  her  little  hands  clasped  primly  in 
her  lap. 

"  And  after,  yes,  one  creme  a  la  glace,  one  cake, 
and  one  leetle  bunch  of  raisin.,  grape  you  say,"  re- 
peated Gex,  as  he  wrote' laboriously  with  his  old,  stiff 
fingers.  "  Now  ve  vill  have  one  fine  leetle  dinner, 
my  leetle  lady,"  he  said,  with,  a  beaming  smile,  when 
he  had  completed  the  order. 

Lady  Jane  nodded  an  affirmative,  and  while  they 


1 86  LADY  JANE 

waited  for  their  dinner  her  bright  eyes  traveled  over 
everything;  at  length  they  rested  on  Mr.  Gex  with 
unbounded  admiration,  and  she  could  not  refrain 
from  leaning  forward  and  whispering : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gex,  how  nice,  how  lovely  you  look ! 
Please,  Mr.  Gex,  please  don't  wear  an  apron  any 
more." 

"  Veil,  if  my  leetle  lady  don't  vant  me  to,  veil,  I 
von't,"  replied  Gex,  beaming  with  sudden  ambition 
and  pride,  "  and,  perhaps,  I  vill  try  to  be  one  fine 
leetle  gentleman  again,  like  vhen  I  vas  professeur  of 
the  dance." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AFTER   THE   CARNIVAL 

IT  was  nearly  dark,  and  the  day  had  been  very 
long  to  Pepsie,  sitting  alone  at  her  window,  for 
Madelon  must  remain  all  day  and  until  late  at  night 
on  the  Rue  Bourbon.  A  holiday,  and  especially 
Mardi-gras,  was  a  day  of  harvest  for  her,  and  she 
never  neglected  a  chance  to  reap  nickels  and  dimes ; 
therefore  Pepsie  began  to  look  anxiously  for  the  re- 
turn of  the  merry  party  in  the  milk-cart.  She  knew 
they  were  not  to  remain  to  see  the  night  procession ; 
at  least,  that  had  not  been  the  intention  of  Tante 
Modeste  when  she  left,  and  she  could  not  imagine 
what  had  detained  them.  And  Tite  Souris, —  un- 
grateful creature!  had  been  told  to  return  as  soon  as 
the  procession  was  over,  in  order  to  get  Pepsie's  din- 
ner. Owing  to  the  excitement  of  the  morning,  Pep- 
sie had  eaten  nothing,  and  now  she  was  very  hungry, 
as  well  as  lonesome ;  and  even  Tony,  tired  of  wait- 
ing, was  hopping  about  restlessly,  straining  at  his 
cord,  and  pecking  the  floor  viciously. 

187 


1 88  LADY  JANE 

Madame  Jozain  had  returned  some  time  before, 
and  was  even  then  eating  her  dinner  comfortably. 
Pepsie  had  called  across  to  know  if  she  had  seen  any- 
thing of  the  Paichoux  and  Lady  Jane;  but  madame 
had  answered  stiffly  that  she  had  been  in  her  friend's 
gallery  all  the  time,  which  was  an  intimation  that  she 
had  been  in  no  position  to  notice  a  milk-cart,  or  its 
occupants.  Then  she  observed  indifferently  that 
Madame  Paichoux  had  probably  decided  to  remain 
on  Canal  Street  in  order  to  get  good  positions  for 
the  night  procession. 

Pepsie  comforted  herself  somewhat  with  this  view 
of  the  case,  and  then  began  to  worry  about  the  child's 
fast.  She  was  sure  Tarite  Modeste  had  nothing  in 
the  cart  for  the  children  to  eat,  and  on  Mardi-gras 
there  was  such  a  rush  that  one  could  hardly  get  into 
a  restaurant,  and  she  doubted  whether  Tante  Mo- 
deste would  try  with  such  a  crowd  of  young  ones  to 
feed.  At  length  when  she  had  thought  of  every  pos- 
sible reason  for  their  remaining  so  late,  and  every 
possible  plan  by  which  they  could  be  fed,  she  began 
to  think  of  her  own  hunger,  and  of  Tite  Souris's 
neglect,  and  had  worked  herself  up  to  a  very  un- 
enviable state  of  mind,  when  she  saw  her  ungrateful 
handmaid  plunging  across  the  street,  looking  like  a 


LADY  JANE  189 

much-abused  scarecrow,  the  remnants  of  her  tat- 
ters flying  in  the  wind,  and  her  long  black  .legs,  ow- 
ing to  the  unexpected  abbreviation  of  her  skirts, 
longer  and  thinner  than  ever,  while  her  comical  black 
face  wore  an  expression  impossible  to  describe. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Peps'/'  she  gasped,  bursting  into  Pep- 
sie's  presence  like  a  whirlwind,  "  Ma'm  Paichoux 
done  sont  me  on  ahead  ter  tell  yer  how  Miss  Lady  's 
done  got  lost." 

"Lost,  lost?"  cried  Pepsie,  clasping  her  hands 
wildly  and  bursting  into  tears.  "How,  where?" 

"  Up  yon'er,  on  Cunnul  Street.  We's  can't  find 
'er  nowhar." 

"  Then  you  must  have  let  go  of  her,"  cried  Pepsie, 
while  her  eyes  flashed  fire.  "  I  told  you  not  to  let 
go  of  her." 

"  Oh  laws,  Miss  Peps',  we's  could  n't  holp  it  in 
dat  dar  scrimmage ;  peoples  done  bus'  us  right  apart, 
an'  Miss  Lady's  so  littl'  her  han'  jes  slip  outen  mine. 
I'se  tried  ter  hole  on,  but 't  ain't  no  use." 

"  And  where  was  Tiburce  ?  Did  he  let  go  of  her 
too?" 

"  He  war  dar,  but  Lor  f  he  could  n't  holp  it,  Mars' 
Tiburce  could  n't,  no  more  en  me." 

"  You  've  broken  my  heart,  Tite,  and  if  you  don't 


i9'2  LADY  JANE 

thank  Heaven ;  he  said  he  just  let  go  her  hand  for  one 
moment,  and  there  was  such  a  crowd.  If  that  fly- 
away of  a  Tite  had  kept  on  the  other  side  it  would  n't 
have  happened,  but  she  ran  off  as  soon  as  they  got 
on  the  street." 

"  I  thought  so.  I  '11  pay  her  off,"  said  Pepsie  vin- 
dictively. 

"  Come,  come,  Modeste,"  called  Paichoux  from 
the  door,  "  let 's  be  starting." 

"  Oh,  uncle !  "  cried  Pepsie,  imploringly,  "  do  find 
Lady  Jane." 

"Certainly,  child,  certainly,  I'll  find  her.  I'll 
have  her  back  here  in  an  hour  or  so.  Don't  cry. 
It 's  nothing  for  a  young  one  to  get  lost  Mardi-gras ; 
I  dare  say  there  are  a  dozen  at  the  police  stations 
now,  waiting  for  their  people  to  come  and  get  them." 

Just  at  that  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  voices 
without,  and  Pepsie  exclaimed :  "  That 's  Lady  Jane. 
I  heard  her  speak."  Sure  enough,  the  sweet,  high- 
pitched  little  voice  chattering  merrily  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard;  and  at  the  same  instant  Tite  Souris 
burst  into  the  room,  exclaiming : 

"  Her  's  here,  Miss  Peps',  bres  der  Lor' !  I 's 
done  found  her " ;  and  following  close  was  Lady 
Jane,  still  holding  fast  to  little  Gex. 


LADY  JANE  193 

"  Oh,  Pepsie !  Oh,  I  was  lost !  "  she  cried,  spring- 
ing into  her  friend's  arms.  "  I  was  lost,  and  Mr. 
Gex  found  me ;  and  I  struck  a  boy  in  the  face,  and 
he  tore  off  my  domino  and  mask,  and  I  did  n't  know 
what  to  do,  when  Mr.  Gex  came  and  kicked  him  into 
the  gutter.  Did  n't  you,  Mr.  Gex  ?  " 

"  Just  to  think  of  it !  "  cried  Tante  Modeste,  em- 
bracing her,  and  almost  crying  over  her,  while  Paich- 
oux  was  listening  to  the  modest  account  of  the  res- 
cue, from  the  ancient  dancing-master. 

"And  I  had  dinner  with  Mr.  Gex,"  cried  Lady 
Jane  joyfully ;  "  such  a  lovely  dinner  —  ice  cream, 
and  grapes  —  and  cake !  " 

"  And  one  leetle  bird,  vith  a  vairy  fine  salad,  my 
leetle  lady, —  vas  n't  it  —  one  vairy  nice  leetle 
bird?  "  interrupted  Gex,  who  was  unwilling  to  have 
his  fine  dinner  belittled. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  bird,  and  fish,  and  soup,"  enumerated 
Lady  Jane,  "  and  peas,  Pepsie,  little  peas." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  oh,  leetle  lady!  "  cried  Gex,  hold- 
ing up  his  hands  in  horror,  "  you  have  it  vairy 
wrong.  It  vas  soup,  and  fish,  and  bird.  M.  Paich- 
oux,  you  see  the  leetle  lady  does  not  veil  remember ; 
and  you  must  not  think  I  can't  order  one  vairy  fine 
dinner." 


192  LADY  JANE 

thank  Heaven ;  he  said  he  just  let  go  her  hand  for  one 
moment,  and  there  was  such  a  crowd.  If  that  fly- 
away of  a  Tite  had  kept  on  the  other  side  it  would  n't 
have  happened,  but  she  ran  off  as  soon  as  they  got 
on  the  street." 

"  I  thought  so.  I  '11  pay  her  off,"  said  Pepsie  vin- 
dictively. 

"  Come,  come,  Modeste,"  called  Paichoux  from 
the  door,  "  let 's  be  starting." 

"  Oh,  uncle !  "  cried  Pepsie,  imploringly,  "  do  find 
Lady  Jane." 

"Certainly,  child,  certainly,  I'll  find  her.  I'll 
have  her  back  here  in  an  hour  or  so.  Don't  cry. 
It 's  nothing  for  a  young  one  to  get  lost  Mardi-gras ; 
I  dare  say  there  are  a  dozen  at  the  police  stations 
now,  waiting  for  their  people  to  come  and  get  them." 

Just  at  that  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  voices 
without,  and  Pepsie  exclaimed :  "  That 's  Lady  Jane. 
I  heard  her  speak."  Sure  enough,  the  sweet,  high- 
pitched  little  voice  chattering  merrily  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard;  and  at  the  same  instant  Tite  Souris 
burst  into  the  room,  exclaiming : 

"  Her  's  here,  Miss  Peps',  bres  der  Lor' !  I 's 
done  found  her " ;  and  following  close  was  Lady 
Jane,  still  holding  fast  to  little  Gex. 


LADY  JANE  193 

"  Oh,  Pepsie !  Oh,  I  was  lost !  "  she  cried,  spring- 
ing into  her  friend's  arms.  "  I  was  lost,  and  Mr. 
Gex  found  me;  and  I  struck  a  boy  in  the  face,  and 
he  tore  off  my  domino  and  mask,  and  I  did  n't  know 
what  to  do,  when  Mr.  Gex  came  and  kicked  him  into 
the  gutter.  Did  n't  you,  Mr.  Gex  ?  " 

"  Just  to  think  of  it !  "  cried  Tante  Modeste,  em- 
bracing her,  and  almost  crying  over  her,  while  Paich- 
oux  was  listening  to  the  modest  account  of  the  res- 
cue, from  the  ancient  dancing-master. 

"And  I  had  dinner  with  Mr.  Gex,"  cried  Lady 
Jane  joyfully ;  "  such  a  lovely  dinner  —  ice  cream, 
and  grapes  —  and  cake !  " 

"  And  one  leetle  bird,  vith  a  vairy  fine  salad,  my 
leetle  lady, —  vas  n't  it  —  one  vairy  nice  leetle 
bird?  "  interrupted  Gex,  who  was  unwilling  to  have 
his  fine  dinner  belittled. 

"Oh,  yes;  bird,  and  fish,  and  soup,"  enumerated 
Lady  Jane,  "  and  peas,  Pepsie,  little  peas." 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  oh,  leetle  lady!  "  cried  Gex,  hold- 
ing up  his  hands  in  horror,  "  you  have  it  vairy 
wrong.  It  vas  soup,  and  fish,  and  bird.  M.  Paich- 
oux,  you  see  the  leetle  lady  does  not  veil  remember ; 
and  you  must  not  think  I  can't  order  one  vairy  fine 
dinner." 


194  LADY  JANE 

"  I  understand,"  said  Paichoux,  laughing.  "  I  've 
no  doubt,  Gex,  but  what  you  could  order  a  dinner  fit 
for  an  alderman." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  vairy  much,"  returned 
Gex,  as  he  bowed  himself  out  and  went  home  to 
dream  of  his  triumphs. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PAICHOUX    MAKES  A    PURCHASE 

JUST  to  think,"  said  Pepsie  to  her  mother,  the 
next  morning,  "  Madame  Jozain  was  n't  the 
least  anxious  last  night  about  Lady.  I  don't  believe 
she  cares  for  the  child,  or  she  'd  never  be  willing  to 
let  her  stay  away  from  her  the  most  of  the  time, 
as  she  does.  She  's  always  fussing  about  her  great, 
overgrown  son,  if  he 's  out  of  her  sight." 

"  And  no  wonder,"  returned  Madelon.  "  Poor 
woman,  she  has  trouble  enough  with  him.  She 
keeps  it  to  herself  and  pretends  to  be  proud  of  him; 
but,  my  dear,  he  's  a  living  disgrace  to  her.  I  often 
hear  him  spoken  of  on  the  Rue  Bourbon ;  he  dresses 
fine  and  never  works.  Where  does  he  get  his 
money,  ma  petite?  If  people  are  poor  and  don't 
work  they  must  steal.  They  may  call  it  by  some 
other  name,  but  I  call  it  stealing.  Madame  Jozain 
can't  make  money  enough  in  that  little  shop  to  sup- 
port herself  and  keep  that  boy  in  idleness.  We 

195 


196  LADY  JANE 

must  n't  be  too  hard  on  her.  She  has  trouble 
enough,  I  can  see  it  in  her  face ;  she  looks  worn  out 
with  worry.  And  we  '11  do  all  we  can  for  that  little 
darling.  It 's  a  pleasure ;  she  's  so  sweet  and  grate- 
ful. I  only  wish  I  could  do  more.  I  'd  work  my 
fingers  to  the  bone  for  you  two,  my  darling." 

"Bonne  maman,"  said  Pepsie,  clinging  to  her 
neck,  and  kissing  her  fondly,  "  have  you  thought  of 
what  I  asked  you  —  have  you,  mama?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  have,  I  've  thought  of  it  a  great 
deal ;  but  I  don't  see  my  way  clear  quite  yet." 

"  Why,  you  've  got  the  money  in  the  bank, 
mama  ?  " 

"  I  can't  touch  that  money,  my  dear ;  it 's  for  you. 
If  anything  should  happen  to  me,  and  you  were  left 
alone." 

"  Hush,  hush,  mama ;  I  should  n't  need  any  money 
then,  for  I  should  die  too." 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  if  it  was  the  good  God's  will 
that  you  should  live.  I  don't  want  to  spend  that ;  I 
want  to  feel  that  you  've  something.  A  piano  costs 
a  great  deal  of  money;  besides,  what  would  your 
uncle  and  aunt  think  if  I  should  do  such  a  thing?  " 

"  They  'd  think  you  did  it  because  I  wanted  you 
to,"  returned  Pepsie  slyly. 


LADY  JANE  197 

"  That  would  be  a  reason  certainly,"  said  Mad- 
elon,  laughing,  "  and  I  '11  try  to  do  it  after  a  while. 
Have  a  little  patience,  dear,  and  I  think  I  can  manage 
it  without  touching  the  money  in  the  bank." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  can,  mama,  because  Mam'selle 
Diane  says  Lady  learns  very  fast,  and  that  she  ought 
to  practise.  I  hate  to  have  her  kept  back  for  the 
need  of  a  piano,  and  Madame  Jozain  will  never  get 
one  for  her.  You  know  you  could  sell  it  afterward, 
mama/' —  and  Pepsie  went  on  to  show,  with  much 
excellent  reasoning,  that  Lady  Jane  could  never 
make  a  great  prima  donna  unless  she  had  advan- 
tages. "  It 's  now,  while  her  fingers  are  supple,  that 
they  must  be  trained ;  she  ought  to  practise  two  hours 
a  day.  Oh,  I  'd  rather  go  without  the  money  than 
to  have  Lady  kept  back.  Try,  bonne  maman,  try  to 
get  a  piano  very  soon,  won't  you  ?  " 

And  Madelon  promised  to  try,  for  she  was  de- 
voted to  the  child ;  but  Pepsie  had  begun  to  think  that 
Lady  Jane  was  her  own  —  her  very  own,  and,  in  her 
generous  affection,  was  willing  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing for  her  good. 

And  Madelon  and  Pepsie  were  not  the  only  ones 
who  planned  and  hoped  for  the  little  one  with  almost 
a  mother's  love  and  interest.  From  the  first  day 


198  LADY  JANE 

that  Lady  Jane  smiled  up  into  the  sad,  worn  face  of 
Diane  d'Hautreve,  a  new  life  had  opened  to  that 
lonely  woman,  a  new  hope,  a  new  happiness  bright- 
ened her  dreary  days ;  for  the  child's  presence  seemed 
to  bring  sunshine  and  youth  to  her.  Had  it  not  been 
for  her  mother,  she  would  have  kept  the  gentle  little 
creature  with  her  constantly,  as  the  sweetest  hours 
she  knew,  or  had  known  for  many  a  weary  year, 
were  those  she  devoted  to  her  lovely  little  pupil.  It 
was  a  dream  of  delight  to  sit  at  the  tinkling  piano 
with  Lady  Jane  nestled  close  to  her  side,  the  sweet, 
liquid  notes  mingling  with  hers,  as  they  sang  an  old- 
fashioned  ballad,  or  a  tender  lullaby.  And  the  child 
never  disappointed  her;  she  was  always  docile  and 
thoughtful,  and  so  quiet  and  polite  that  even  Diane's 
mother,  captious  and  querulous  though  she  was, 
found  no  cause  for  complaint,  while  the  toleration 
with  which  she  had  at  first  received  Lady  Jane  was 
fast  changing  into  affection.  The  more  they  became 
interested  in  her,  the  more  they  wondered  how  she 
could  be  kin  to  such  a  woman  as  Madame  Jozain ;  for 
Mam'selle  Diane  had  been  obliged  to  show  how  ex- 
clusive she  could  be  in  order  to  keep  madame  where 
she  belonged. 

At  first  Madame  Jozain  had  annoyed  them  greatly 


LADY  JANE  199 

by  trying  to  intrude  upon  their  seclusion ;  and  it  had 
taken  several  polite,  but  unmistakable  rebuffs  to 
teach  her  that  they  were  d'Hautreves,  and  that  the 
child  would  be  received  gladly  where  the  aunt  must 
not  expect  to  enter. 

Madame  swallowed  her  mortification  and  said 
nothing,  but  she  bided  her  time  to  take  her  revenge. 
"  I  'II  show  them  before  long  that  I  know  how  poor 
they  are ;  and  that  funny  little  story  I  got  out  of  Tite 
Souris,  about  Mam'selle  Diane  cleaning  her  ban- 
quette with  a  veil  over  her  face  —  every  one  in  the 
neighborhood  shall  know  it.  Poor,  proud,  old 
thing,  she  thought  she  could  insult  me  and  I 
would  n't  resent  it !  " 

And  while  Madame  was  planning  her  little  re- 
venge, and  rehearsing  her  grievances  to  herself, 
Madame  d'Hautreve  and  Mam'selle  Diane  were 
wondering  if  something  could  n't  be  done  to  get  the 
child  out  of  the  clutches  of  such  an  aunt. 

"  It  seems  dreadful,"  Mam'selle  Diane  would  say, 
sadly,  "  to  leave  her  with  that  woman.  I  can't  think 
she  has  any  right  to  her ;  there  's  a  mystery  about  it, 
and  it  pught  to  be  investigated.  Oh,  mama  dear,  if 
we  had  some  money  I  'd  hire  a  lawyer  to  find  out. 
If  she  really  is  the  child's  next-of-kin,  I  suppose  she 


200  LADY  JANE 

has  a  legal  right  to  her,  and  that  no  one  could  oblige 
her  to  relinquish  that  right;  but  one  might  buy  the 
child ;  I  think  she  is  just  the  woman  to  be  moved  by 
money.  Oh,  mama,  if  our  claim  had  only  gone 
through!  If  we  'd  only  got  what  we  ought  to  have 
had,  I  would  try  —  if  you  had  no  objections  —  to 
get  the  child." 

"  Dear,  dear,  Diane,  how  absurd  you  are !  What 
would  you  do  with  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  could  adopt  her,  mama,  and  I  could 
have  the  care  of  her." 

"  But,  my  child,  that  is  all  romancing.  We  have 
no  money,  and  we  never  shall  have  any.  It  is  use- 
less to  think  of  that  claim,  it  will  never  be  consid- 
ered; and  even  if  we  had  money,  it  would  be  a  great 
risk  to  take  a  child  we  know  nothing  of.  I  think 
with  you  that  there  's  some  mystery,  and  I  should 
like  to  have  it  looked  into,  yet  I  don't  think  it 's 
worth  while  worrying  about;  we  have  troubles 
enough  of  our  own." 

"  Oh,  mama,  we  need  not  be  selfish  because  we  are 
poor,"  said  Diane,  gently. 

"  We  can't  help  it,  child ;  selfishness  is  one  of  the 
results  of  poverty.  It  is  self,  self,  constantly;  but 
you  are  an  exception,  Diane.  I  will  give  you  the 


LADY  JANE  201 

credit  of  thinking  more  of  others'  interest  than  of 
your  own.  You  show  it  in  everything.  Now, 
about  that  bird.  Madame  Jourdain  should  have 
paid  you  for  it/and  not  thrown  it  on  your  hands." 

"  Oh,  mama,  she  could  n't  sell  it,"  said  Mam'selle 
Diane,  rejectedly.  "  It  would  n't  be  right  to  expect 
her  to  lose  the  price  of  it.  She  says  it  did  n't '  take  ' 
as  well  as  the  ducks." 

"  Well,  she  might  have  thrown  in  the  wool,"  in- 
sisted Madame  d'Hautreve,  querulously,  "  she  might 
have  given  the  wool  against  your  time." 

"  But  she  did  n't  ask  me  to  experiment  with  a  new 
model,  mama  dear.  It  was  n't  her  fault  if  I  did  n't 
succeed." 

"  You  did  succeed,  Diane.  It  was  perfect ;  it  was 
most  life-like,  only  people  have  n't  the  taste  to  recog- 
nize your  talent." 

"  Madame  Jourdain  said  that  her  customers  did  n't 
like  the  bird's  bill,  and  they  thought  the  neck  too 
long,"  returned  Mam'selle  Diane,  humbly. 

"  There,  there ;  that  shows  how  little  the  best  edu- 
cated people  know  of  ornithology.  It  is  a  species  of 
crane;  the  neck  is  not  out  of  proportion." 

"  They  thought  so,  mama,  and  one  can't  contend 
with  people's  tastes  and  opinions.  I  shall  not  try 


202  LADY  JANE 

anything  new  again.  I  shall  stick  to  my  ducks  and 
canaries." 

"  You  know  I  advised  you  to  do  so  in  the  first 
place.  You  were  too  ambitious,  Diane,  you  were 
too  ambitious! " 

"  Yes ;  you  are  right,  mama,  I  was  too  ambiti- 
ous !  "  sighed  Mam'selle  Diane. 

One  morning  in  August,  about  a  year  from  the 
time  that  Madame  Jozain  moved  into  Good  Children 
Street,  Tante  Modeste  was  in  her  dairy,  deep  in  the 
mysteries  of  cream-cheese  and  butter,  when  Paich- 
oux  entered,  and  laying  a  small  parcel  twisted  up  in 
a  piece  of  newspaper  before  her  waited  for  her  to 
open  it. 

"In  a  moment,"  she  said,  smiling  brightly;  "let 
me  fill  these  molds  first,  then  I  '11  wash  my  hands, 
and  I  'm  done  for  to-day." 

Paichoux  made  no  reply,  but  walked  about  the 
dairy,  peering  into  the  pans  of  rich  milk,  and  whis- 
tling softly. 

Suddenly,  Tante  Modeste  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  surprise.  She  had  opened  the  paper,  and  was 
holding  up  a  beautiful  watch  by  its  exquisitely 
wrought  chain. 


'LADY  JANE  203 

"  Why,  papa,  where  in  the  world  did  you  get 
this  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  turned  it  over  and  over,  and 
examined  first  one  side  and  then  the  other.  "  Blue 
enamel,  a  band  of  diamonds  on  the  rim,  a  leaf  in 
diamonds  on  one  side,  a  monogram  on  the  other. 
What  are  the  letters  ?  —  the  stones  sparkle  so,  I  can 
hardly  make  them  out.  J,  yes,  it 's  a  J,  and  a  C. 
Why,  those  are  the  very  initials  on  that  child's 
clothes!  Paichoux,  where  did  you  get  this  watch, 
and  whose  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  it 's  mine,"  replied  Paichoux,  with  exas- 
perating coolness.  He  was  standing  before  Xante 
Modeste,  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  pockets, 
whistling  in  his  easy  way.  "  It 's  mine,  and  I 
bought  it." 

"Bought  it!  Where  did  you  buy  a  watch  like 
this,  and  wrapped  up  in  newspaper,  too?  Do  tell 
me  where  you  got  it,  Paichoux,"  cried  Xante  Mo- 
deste, very  much  puzzled,  and  very  impatient. 

"  I  bought  it  in  the  Recorder's  Court." 

"In  the  Recorder's  Court?"  echoed  Xante  Mo- 
deste, more  and  more  puzzled.  "  From  whom  did 
you  buy  it  ?  " 

"  From  Raste  Jozain." 

Xante  Modeste  looked  at  her  husband  with  wide 


204  LADY  JANE 

eyes  and  parted  lips,  and  said  nothing  for  several 
seconds ;  then  she  exclaimed,  "  I  told  you  so !  " 

"Told  me  what?"  asked  Paichoux,  with  a  pro- 
voking smile. 

"  Why,  why,  that  all  those  things  marked  J.  C. 
were  stolen  from  that  child's  mother;  and  this  watch 
is  a  part  of  the  same  property,  and  she  never  was  a 
Jozain  — " 

"  Not  so  fast,  Modeste ;  not  so  fast." 

"  Then,  what  was  Raste  Jozain  in  the  Recorder's 
Court  for?" 

"  He  was  arrested  on  suspicion,  but  they  could  n't 
prove  anything." 

"For  this?"  asked  Tante  Modeste,  looking  at 
the  watch. 

"  No,  it  was  another  charge,  but  his  having  such 
a  valuable  watch  went  against  him.  It  seems  like  a 
providence,  my  getting  it.  I  just  happened  to  be 
passing  the  Recorder's  Court,  and,  glancing  in,  I  saw 
that  precious  rascal  in  the  dock.  I  knew  him,  but 
he  did  n't  know  me.  So  I  stepped  in  to  see  what  the 
scrape  was.  It  seems  that  he  was  arrested  on  the 
suspicion  of  being  one  of  a  gang  who  have  robbed  a 
number  of  jewelry  stores.  They  could  n't  prove 
anything  against  him  on  that  charge ;  but  the  watch 


LADY  JANE  205 

and  chain  puzzled  the  Recorder  like  the  mischief. 
He  asked  Raste  where  he  got  it,  and  he  was  ready 
with  his  answer,  '  It  belonged  to  my  cousin  who  died 
some  time  ago;  she  left  it  to  my  mother,  and  my 
mother  gave  it  to  me.'  " 

'  What  was  her  name  ? '  asked  the  Recorder. 
'  Claire  Jozain,"  the  scamp  answered  promptly. 

"  '  But  this  is  J.  C.,'  said  the  Recorder,  examining 
the  letters  closely.  '  I  should  certainly  say  that  the  J. 
came  first.  What  do  you  think,  gentlemen  ?  '  and  he 
handed  the  watch  to  his  clerk  and  some  others ;  and 
they  all  thought  from  the  arrangement  of  the  letters 
that  it  was  J.  C.,  and  while  this  discussion  was  going 
on,  the  fellow  stood  there  smiling  as  impudent  and 
cool  as  if  he  was  the  first  gentleman  in  the  city. 
He  's  a  handsome  fellow,  and  well  dressed,  and  the 
image  of  his  father.  Any  one  who  had  ever  seen 
Andre  Jozain  would  know  that  Raste  was  his  son, 
and  he  's  in  a  fair  way  to  end  his  days  in  Andre's 
company." 

"  And  they  could  n't  find  out  where  he  got  the 
watch  ? "  interrupted  Tante  Modeste  impatiently. 

"  No,  they  could  n't  prove  that  it  was  stolen. 
However,  the  Recorder  gave  him  thirty  days  in  the 
parish  prison  as  a  suspicious  character." 


206  LADY  JANE 

"  They  ought  not  to  have  let  him  off  so  easily," 
said  Tante  Modeste  decidedly. 

"  But  you  know  they  could  n't  prove  anything," 
continued  Paichoux,  "  and  the  fellow  looked  blue  at 
the  prospect  of  thirty  days.  I  guess  he  felt  that  he 
was  getting  it  pretty  heavy.  However,  he  put  on 
lots  of  brass  and  began  talking  and  laughing  with 
some  flashy-looking  fellows  who  gathered  around 
him.  They  saw  the  watch  was  valuable,  and  that 
there  was  a  chance  for  a  bargain,  and  one  of  them 
made  him  an  offer  of  fifty  dollars  for  it.  '  Do  you 
think  I  'm  from  the  West  ? '  he  asked,  with  a  grin, 
and  shoved  it  back  into  his  pocket !  '  I  'm  pretty 
hard  up,  I  need  the  cash  badly;  but  I  can't  give 
you  this  ticker,  as  much  as  I  love  you.'  Then 
another  fellow  offered  him  sixty,  and  he  shook 
his  head.  '  No,  no,  that 's  nowhere  near  the 
figure.' 

"  '  Let  me  look  at  the  watch,'  I  said,  sauntering 
up.  'If  it 's  a  good  watch  I  '11  make  you  an  offer.' 
I  spoke  as  indifferently  as  possible,  because  I  did  n't 
want  him  to  think  I  was  anxious,  and  I  was  n't  quite 
sure  whether  he  knew  me  or  not.  As  he  handed  me 
the  watch  he  eyed  me  impudently,  but  I  saw  that  he 
was  nervous  and  shaky.  '  It 's  a  good  watch,'  I  said 


LADY  JANE  207 

after  I  examined  it  closely ;  '  a  very  good  watch,  and 
I  '11  give  you  seventy-five.' 

"  '  No,  you  don't,  old  hayseed;  hand  it  here.'  I 
was  so  taken  aback  at  his  calling  me  hayseed  —  you 
see,  Modeste,  I  had  on  my  blouse,"  and  Paichoux 
looked  a  little  guilty  while  referring  to  his  toilet. 

"  Well  papa,  have  n't  I  told  you  not  to  go  up-town 
in  your  blouse?  "  said  Tante  Modeste  sharply.  "  I 
should  think  now,  for  Marie's  sake,  that  you  would 
wear  a  coat;  the  Guiots  all  wear  coats." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that.  I  don't.  I  'm  an  honest 
man,  and  I  can  afford  to  wear  a  blouse  anywhere.  I 
did  n't  take  any  notice  of  his  impudence,  but  I  offered 
him  a  hundred.  You  see  I  happened  to  have  the 
money  writh  me.  I  was  on  my  way  to  pay  Lenotre 
for  those  last  Jerseys  I  bought  from  him,  so  I  took 
my  wallet  out  and  began  counting  the  bills.  That 
brought  him;  the  fellow  needed  the  money,  and  he 
wanted  to  get  rid  of  the  watch.  If  I  had  n't  thought 
that  there  was  something  crooked  about  it,  my  con- 
science would  n't  have  let  me  take  such  a  valuable 
thing  for  such  a  price,  but  I  considered  the  child.  I 
thought  it  might  be  all  the  proof  that  we  would  ever 
have  if  anything  came  up,  and  in  any  case  it 's  money 
well  invested  for  her." 


208  LADY  JANE 

"  You  did  right  to  buy  it,  Paichoux.  It 's  a  good 
deal  of  money  for  a  watch,  especially  just  now,  when 
we  have  to  get  so  much  for  Marie ;  but  if  we  can  do 
anything  for  that  darling  by  having  it,  I  don't  mind.'' 
And  Tante  Modeste  sat  for  some  time  looking  in- 
tently at  the  beautiful,  sparkling  object  that  lay  on 
her  white  apron. 

"I  wish  it  could  speak,"  she  said  at  length;  "  I 
wish  it  could  speak."  - 

"  I  mean  to  make  it  by  and  by,"  returned  Paichoux 
decidedly. 

"  But  now,  at  this  moment,  what  a  story  it  could 
tell  if  it  had  a  voice!  Well,  I  'm  glad  we  've  got  it 
out  of  that  scamp's  clutches." 

"  So  am  I,"  returned  Paichoux,  opening  the  case 
as  he  spoke  and  showing  Tante  Modeste  something 
on  the  inside  of  it.  "  I  can  get  a  trace  through  this, 
or  I  'm  mistaken ;  but  put  it  away  now  in  my  safe, 
and  say  nothing  about  it, —  I  don't  want  even  Made- 
Ion  to  know  that  we  Ve  got  it,  and,  Modeste,  when- 
ever you  see  that  woman,  be  on  the  alert  for  some- 
thing that  will  give  us  a  clue." 

"  Oh,  Paichoux,  you  don't  know  her.  She  's  as 
close  as  the  grave,  and  too  cunning  to  betray  her- 
self. I  'm  always  watching  her,  and  I  mean  to 


LADY  JANE  209 

keep  on ;  but  I  don't  think  it 's  any  use.  I  wish  we 
could  employ  a  detective  to  unravel  the  mystery." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  that  would  cost  a  good  deal,  Mo- 
deste ;  let 's  wait  awhile,  something  's  going  to  turn 
up  to  put  us  on  the  right  track." 

"  And  in  the  mean  while  the  poor  little  darling  is 
in  the  power  of  that  woman.  The  child  never  com- 
plains, but  my  heart  aches  for  her.  She  has  changed 
this  summer;  she  looks  thin  and  weak,  and  that 
woman  takes  no  more  care  of  her  than  she  would  of 
a  dog.  If  it  was  n't  for  Madelon  and  Pepsie,  and 
Mam'selle  d'Hautreve,  the  little  creature  would  suf- 
fer; and  our  good  milk  that  I  send  to  Madelon  has 
helped  her  through  the  hot  weather.  Pepsie  herself 
goes  without,  to  give  it  to  the  child.  If  the  sweet 
little  thing  had  n't  made  friends,  she  would  have  per- 
ished." 

"  Let  her  come  down  here  and  play  with  our 
young  ones ;  there  's  room  enough,"  said  Paichoux 
good-naturedly,  "  and  she  's  no  more  trouble  than 
a  bird  hopping  about." 

"  I  wanted  to  have  her,  but  madame  won't  let  her 
come ;  she  's  taken  it  in  her  head  to  keep  the  child 
shut  up  most  of  the  time.  Pepsie  and  Mam'selle 
Diane  complain  that  they  don't  have  her  as  often  as 


210  LADY  JANE 

they  'd  like  to.  I  think  she  's  afraid  that  the  child 
may  talk.  You  see  she  's  getting  older,  and  she  may 
remember  more  than  madame  likes  her  to." 

"  Well,"  said  Paichoux  deliberately,  "  I  've  made 
a  plan,  and  by  and  by  I  'm  going  to  put  it  in  opera- 
tion. Just  keep  quiet  and  wait  until  I  'm  ready  to 
put  my  plan  in  operation." 

And  Tante  Modeste  promised  to  wait. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MADAME  JOZAIN   CALLS  UPON   MAM'SELLE  DIANE 

IT  was  somewhere  about  the  time  that  Paichoux 
bought  the  watch  when  Mam'selle  Diane  was 
surprised  one  morning  by  a  visit  from  Madame  Jo- 
zain,  who  entered  the  little  green  gate  with  an  air  of 
haughty  severity  and  insolent  patronage  that  was  in- 
sufferable ;  and  she  had  evidently  come  on  business, 
for,  after  the  first  formalities  had  passed  between 
them,  she  drew  a  well-filled  purse  from  her  pocket 
and  asked  in  a  lofty  tone  if  Mam'selle  Diane  had  her 
bill  prepared. 

"My  bill,  Madame  Jozain?  What  bill?"  said 
Mam'selle  Diane,  looking  at  her  with  cold  surprise. 
"  I  am  not  aware  that  you  owe  me  anything." 

"  I  owe  you  for  teaching  Lady  Jane  music ;  you  've 
been  giving  her  lessons  now  for  some  months,  and 
I  'm  sure  you  must  need  your  money." 

"  Oh,  Madame,"  gasped  Mam'selle  Diane,  "  you 
are  laboring  under  a  mistake.  I  never  thought  of 
receiving  money  for  the  pleasure  I  have  had  with  the 

211 


212  LADY  JANE 

child.  I  offered  to  teach  her.  It  was  my  own  offer. 
You  surely  did  not  think  that  I  expected  to  be 
paid?" 

"  I  certainly  did.  Why  should  you  teach  her  for 
nothing  when  I  am  able  to  pay?  "  returned  madame 
haughtily,  while  she  fingered  her  roll  of  notes.  "  In 
your  circumstances  you  can't  afford  to  throw  away 
your  time,  and  I  'm  quite  willing  to  pay  you  the  usual 
price.  You  're  a  very  good  teacher,  and  I  'm  very 
well  satisfied  with  the  child's  progress." 

For  a  moment,  Mam'selle  Diane  was  quite  over- 
come by  the  woman's  insolence.  Then,  remember- 
ing that  she  was  a  d'Hautreve,  she  drew  herself  up, 
and  said  calmly  and  without  the  least  hauteur,  "  I 
regret,  Madame,  that  you  thought  me  a  teacher  of 
music.  I  make  no  claim  to  any  professional  knowl- 
edge, therefore  I  could  not  take  the  pay  of  a  teacher. 
I  thank  you  very  much,  but  I  am  not  a  teacher." 

"  It  does  n't  matter.  I  insist  on  paying  you." 
And  madame  held  out  a  bank-note  for  such  a  large 
amount  that  Mam'selle  Diane's  eyes  were  fairly  daz- 
zled. 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  impossible,"  said  Diane  gently. 
"  It  is  useless  to  discuss  the  matter.  Will  you  per- 
mit me  to  open  the  gate  for  you  ?  " 


LADY  JANE  213 

"  Very  well,  then,"  exclaimed  madame,  hotly. 
"  I  sha'n't  allow  my  niece  to  come  here  again.  I 
won't  accept  favors  from  any  one.  She  shall  have 
a  teacher  that  is  n't  too  proud  to  take  pay." 

"  1  hope  you  will  not  deprive  us  of  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  Lady  Jane.  We  are  very  fond  of  her,"  said 
Mam'selle  Diane,  almost  humbly,  while  the  tears 
gathered  on  her  eyelashes.  "  Of  course  you  must  do 
as  you  think  best  about  the  lessons." 

"  I  sha'n't  allow  her  to  run  about  the  neighbor- 
hood any  more,"  replied  madame,  tartly;  "she's 
losing  her  pretty  manners.  I  shall  keep  her  with  me 
in  the  future,"  and  with  this  small  parting  thrust  and 
a  curt  good-morning  she  went  out  of  the  little  green 
gate,  and  left  Mam'selle  Diane  to  close  it  behind  her 
with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

The  interview  had  taken  place  on  the  gallery,  and 
Madame  d'Hautreve  had  heard  but  little  from  her 
bed.  "  Diane,  what  did  that  woman  want?  What 
sent  her  here  at  this  hour?  "  quavered  the  old  lady 
sharply. 

"  She  came  on  business,  mama,"  replied  Mam'selle 
Diane,  brushing  away  a  tear. 

"  Business,  business ;  I  hope  you  have  no  business 
with  her." 


214  LADY  JANE 

"  She  pretended  to  think  I  expected  to  be  paid  for 
the  lessons  I  have  given  Lady  Jane." 

Madame  groaned.  "  I  told  you  we  would  regret 
opening  our  doors  to  that  child." 

"  Oh,  mama,  I  don't  regret  it.  I  only  regret  that 
I  have  lost  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her.  Madame  Jo- 
zain  will  not  allow  her  to  come  any  more." 

"  Ungrateful  creature,  to  insult  you  after  your 
condescension." 

"  Mama,  she  did  n't  insult  me,"  interrupted  Mam'- 
selle  Diane,  proudly.  "  Must  I  remind  you  that  I 
am  above  her  insolence  ?  " 

"  True,  my  dear,  true,  and  I  hope  you  made  her 
feel  that  she  is  a  Jozain." 

"  I  did  n't  wish  to  be  unkind  to  her,  mama.  Per- 
haps she  is  not  so  wrong  after  all.  Sometimes  I 
think  it  would  have  been  better  to  have  let  our 
friends  know  our  real  circumstances.  Then  they 
would  have  helped  me  to  get  pupils,  and  I  could  have 
earned  more  teaching  music  than  I  can  making  pen- 
wipers, and  I  am  sure  it  would  be  more  respectable 
and  more  agreeable." 

"  Oh,  Diane,  you  surprise  me,"  cried  Madame 
d'Hautreve,  tremulously.  "  Think  of  it !  a  grand- 
daughter of  the  Counts  d'Hautreve  and  d'Orgenois 


LADY  JANE  215 

teaching  the  children  of  grocers  and  bakers  to  play 
the  piano.  No,  no ;  I  would  rather  bury  myself  here 
and  die  in  poverty  than  disgrace  our  name  -in  that 
way." 

Mam'selle  Diane  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  few 
moments  madame  turned  on  her  pillow  to  finish  her 
morning  nap.  Then  the  last  of  the  d'Hautreves 
went  into  the  little  garden,  and  drawing  on  a  pair  of 
old  gloves  she  dug  and  trimmed  and  trained  her 
flowers  for  some  time,  and  afterwards  gathered  up 
the  small  piles  of  seeds  from  the  white  papers. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  she  said  wearily,  seeing  how  few  they 
were,  "  even  the  flowers  refuse  to  seed  this  year." 

After  she  had  finished  her  work  in  the  garden,  she 
went  dejectedly  back  to  the  little  room  where  her 
mother  still  slept,  and  opening  a  drawer  in  her  ar- 
moire  she  took  out  a  small  box.  She  sighed  heavily 
as  she  raised  the  lid.  Inside  on  a  blue  velvet  lining 
lay  a  slender  bracelet  set  with  turquoises  and  dia- 
monds. "  It  must  go,"  she  said  sadly  to  herself. 
"  I  have  kept  it  till  the  last.  I  hoped  I  would  n't 
be  obliged  to  part  with  it,  but  I  must.  I  can't  let 
poor  mama  know  how  needy  we  are.  It 's  the  only 
thing  I  can  spare  without  telling  her.  Yes,  I  must 
give  it  up.  I  must  ask  Madame  Jourdain  to  dis- 


216  LADY  JANE 

pose  of  it  for  me."  Then  she  sat  for  a  long  timt 
looking  at  it  silently,  while  the  hot  tears  fell  on  the 
blue  velvet.  At  last,  with  a  sigh,  she  bravely  wiped 
her  eyes,  and  laid  the  little  box  under  the  ducklings 
in  the  black  basket. 

For  more  than  a  week  Mam'selle  Diane  did  not  see 
Lady  Jane,  and  the  poor  woman's  eyes  had  a  sus- 
picious look  of  tears,  as  she  went  about  her  duties, 
silent  and  dejected.  Her  only  pleasure-  was  no 
longer  a  pleasure;  she  could  not  go  near  the  piano 
for  some  days.  At  last,  one  evening,  she  sat  down 
and  began  to  play  and  sing  a  little  song  she  had 
taught  the  child,  when  suddenly  she  heard,  outside 
the  window,  the  sweet  treble  voice  she  loved  so  well. 

"  It 's  Lady  Jane !  "  she  cried,  and  springing  up  so 
hastily  that  she  upset  the  piano-stool  she  grappled 
with  the  rusty  bolts  of  the  shutters,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  years,  threw  them  boldly  open,  and  there 
stood  the  child,  hugging  her  bird  to  her  breast,  her 
wan  little  face  lit  up  with  her  sparkling  eyes  and 
bright,  winsome  smile. 

Mam'selle  Diane  went  down  on  her  knees,  and 
Lady  Jane  clung  to  her  neck  and  kissed  her  rap- 
turously over  and  over. 

"  Diane,  Diane,  what  are  you  thinking  of,  to  open 


LADY  JANE  217 

that  shutter  in  the  face  of  every  one?  "  said  the  old 
lady  feebly. 

But  Mam'selle  Diane  did  not  hear  her  mother; 
she  was  in  an  ecstasy  of  happiness,  with  the  child's 
soft  lips  pressed  to  her  faded  cheeks. 

"  Tante  Pauline  says  I  must  n't  come  in,"  whis- 
pered Lady  Jane,  between  her  kisses,  "  and  I  must 
mind  what  she  says." 

"  Yes,  darling,  you  must  obey  her." 

"  I  've  been  here  every  day  listening,  and  I  have  n't 
heard  you  sing  before." 

"  Dear  child,  I  could  n't  sing ;  I  missed  you  so  I 
could  n't  sing." 

"  Don't  cry,  Mam'selle  Diane ;  I  love  you  dearly. 
Don't  cry,  and  I  '11  come  every  day  to  the  window. 
Tante  Pauline  won't  be  angry  at  that." 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear;  I  'm  afraid  she  will." 

"  Diane,  close  that  window  instantly,"  cried  Ma- 
dame d'Haiitreve,  quite  beside  herself.  "  A  pretty 
exhibition  you  're  making  before  all  the  neighbors, 
on  your  knees  crying  over  that  child." 

"  Good-by,  darling ;  come  sometimes.  Mama 
don't  like  me  to  open  the  window,  but  I  '11  open  the 
gate  and  speak  to  you,"  said  Diane,  hastily  returning 
to  herself  and  the  exigencies  of  her  position. 


218  LADY  JANE 

"  Forgive  me,  mama,  I  really  could  n't  help  it,  I 
was  so  glad  to  see  the  child,"  and  Mam'selle  Diane 
closed  the  window  wi-th  a  brighter  face  than  she  had 
shown  for  several  days. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  insane,  Diane,  I  surely  think 
you  must  be,  to  let  all  these  common  people  know 
that  a  blanchisseuse  de  fin  will  not  allow  her  child  to 
come  into  our  house,  and  that  you  are  obliged  to  go 
on  your  knees  and  reach  out  of  the  window  to  em- 
brace her.  Oh,  Diane,  Diane,  for  the  first  time 
you  've  forgotten  that  you  're  a  d'Hautreve !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV  , 

RASTE   THE   PRODIGAL 

ABOUT  this  time,  a  noticeable  change  took  place 
in  Madame  Jozain.  She  did  not  seem  nearly 
so  self-satisfied,  nor  so  agreeable  to  her  customers. 
They  remarked  among  themselves  that  something 
had  certainly  gone  wrong,  for  madame  was  very 
absent-minded  and  rather  cross,  and  was  always 
talking  about  business  being  poor,  and  the  quarter 
growing  duller  every  day,  while  the  neighbors  were 
a  set  of  curious  gossips  and  busybodies. 

"  As  soon  as  they  find  out  that  one  has  had 
trouble,  they  blacken  one  all  they  can,"  she  said  bit- 
terly to  Madame  Fernandez,  who  was  her  only  in- 
timate friend. 

She  spoke  cautiously  and  vaguely  of  her  troubles, 
for  she  did  not  know  whether  the  news  of  Raste's 
escapade  had  reached  Good  Children  Street  or  not. 
"  I  dare  say  they  have  seen  it  in  the  papers,"  she 
thought  angrily  to-  herself.  "  Locked  up  for  thirty 
days,  as  a  suspicious  character!  If  he  had  listened 

219 


220  LADY  JANE 

to  me,  and  sold  that  watch  at  first,  he  would  n't  have 
got  into  this  trouble.  I  told  him  to  be  careful,  but 
he  was  always  so  headstrong,  and  now,  I  don't  know 
what  may  happen  any  moment.  The  whole  story 
may  get  out,  through  that  watch  being  talked  about 
in  the  papers,  and  perhaps  the  man  that  bought  it  was 
a  detective.  Raste  did  n't  even  find  out  who  bought 
it.  I  shall  never  feel  easy  now  until  Raste  is  out  of 
the  way.  As  soon  as  thirty  days  are  ended,  I  shall 
advise  him  to  leave  New  Orleans  for  a  while.  I  'm 
disgusted  with  him,  to  disgrace  me  in  this  way,  and 
I  don't  want  him  here.  I  can  hardly  make  enough 
to  support  myself  and  that  child.  If  it  wasn't  for 
the  money  I  've  hidden  away,  I  should  feel  dis- 
couraged ;  but  I  've  got  that  to  fall  back  on.  I  'm 
thankful  Raste  don't  know  anything  about  it,  or 
he  'd  get  it  from  me  in  some  way.  I  'm  glad  I  've 
got  rid  of  all  those  things ;  I  'd  be  afraid  to  have 
them  by  me  now.  There  's  nothing  of  any  conse- 
quence left  but  that  silver  jewel-box,  and  I  '11  get 
that  off  my  hands  the  first  time  I  go  out." 

Then  she  thought  of  the  child.  Suppose  some 
one  should  recognize  the  child?  She  was  becoming 
cowardly.  A  guilty  conscience  was  an  uncomfort- 
able companion.  Everything  frightened  her  and 


LADY  JANE  221 

made  her  suspicious.  Madame  Paichoux  had  asked 
some  startling  questions ;  and  besides,  she  did  not 
know  what  the  child  might  tell.  Children  were  so 
unreliable.  One  would  think  they  had  forgotten 
everything  and  did  not  see  nor  hear;  then,  suddenly, 
they  would  drop  some  word  that  would  lead  to 
wonderful  revelations. 

Lady  Jane  was  an  intelligent,  thoughtful  child, 
and  such  people  as  the  d'Hautreves  could  find  out 
many  things  from  her.  Then  she  congratulated  her- 
self that  she  had  been  clever  enough  to  get  her  away 
from  Mam'selle  Diane,  and  the  Paichoux,  too.  And 
that  cunning  little  hunchback,  Pepsie;  and  old  Gex 
—  he  was  a  sly  old  villain,  and  no  doubt  her  enemy, 
for  all  he  was  so  affable  and  polite.  Yes,  she  would 
keep  the  child  away  from  them  all  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

Sometimes  she  thought  it  would  be  best  to  move 
away  from  that  quarter  of  the  city;  but  then,  her 
going  might  excite  suspicion,  so  she  waited  for  fur- 
ther developments  with  much  anxiety. 

When  Raste's  thirty  days  were  up  he  came  to  his 
mother,  very  sheepish,  and,  apparently,  very  peni- 
tent. To  her  angry  reproaches,  he  replied  that  he 
had  done  nothing;  that  there  was  no  crime  in  his 


222  LADY  JANE 

having  the  watch.  They  didn't  steal  the  watch; 
they  did  n't  ask  the  poor  woman  into  their  house  and 
rob  her.  She  came  there  sick,  and  they  took  care  of 
her;  and  instead  of  turning  her  child  into  the  street, 
they  had  treated  her  as  if  she  belonged  to  them. 
As  for  the  watch,  he  had  been  keeping  it  only  until 
the  child  was  old  enough  to  have  it,  or  until  her 
relatives  turned  up ;  he  had  never  intended  to  sell  it 
until  he  found  that  it  was  getting  him  into  trouble, 
and  then  he  was  obliged  to  get  rid  of  it. 

Madame  listened  to  the  plausible  arguments  of 
her  handsome  scapegrace,  and  thought  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  there  was  no  real  cause  for  anxiety;  and 
when  he  treated  his  thirty  days  with  fine  scorn,  as 
a  mere  trifle,  a  mistake  of  which  no  one  knew,  she 
felt  greatly  comforted. 

"  Respectable  people,"  he  said,  "  never  read  about 
such  matters,  and,  consequently,  none  of  our  friends 
will  ever  know  of  it.  It  won't  happen  again,  for  I 
mean  to  cut  loose  from  the  fellows  who  led  me  into 
that  fix.  I  mean  to  go  with  respectable  people.  I 
shall  begin  all  over,  and  earn  a  living  in  an  honest 
way." 

Madame  was  delighted;  she  never  knew  Raste  to 


LADY  JANE  223 

talk  so  reasonably  and  to  be  so  thoughtful.  After 
all,  his  punishment  had  n't  done  him  any  harm.  He 
had  had  time  to  think,  and  these  good  resolves  were 
the  result  of  his  seclusion  from  the  friends  who  had 
nearly  proved  his  ruin.  Therefore,  greatly  relieved 
of  her  anxieties,  she  took  the  prodigal  back  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  cooked  him  an  excellent  sup- 
per, not  of  a  fatted  calf,  but  of  a  fatted  pig  that 
Madame  Paichoux  had  sent  her  as  a  preliminary 
offering  toward  closer  acquaintance. 

For  several  days  Raste  remained  quietly  at  work 
around  the  house,  assisting  his  mother  in  various 
ways,  and  showing  such  a  helpful  and  kindly  dis- 
position that  madame  was  more  than  ever  enchanted 
with  him.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  propose  that 
they  should  form  a  partnership  and  extend  their 
business. 

"  My  credit  is  good,"  said  madame,  proudly;  "  I 
can  buy  a  larger  stock,  and  we  might  hire  the  store 
on  the  corner,  and  add  a  grocery  department,  by 
and  by." 

"  But  the  capital  ?  We  have  n't  the  capital,"  re- 
turned Raste  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  provide  the  capital,  or  the  credit,  which 


224  LADY  JANE 

is  just  as  good,"  replied  maclame,  with  the  air  of  a 
millionaire. 

"  Well,"  said  Raste,  "  you  go  out  among  the  mer- 
chants and  see  what  you  can  do,  and  I  '11  stay  here 
and  wait  on  the  customers.  There  's  nothing  like 
getting  used  to  it,  you  know.  But  send  that  young 
one  over  to  the  '  Countess/  or  to  some  of  her  swell 
friends.  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  her  ever- 
lasting questions.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  little 
monkey,  sitting  up  holding  that  long-legged  bird, 
and  asking  a  fellow  a  lot  of  hard  questions,  as  seri- 
ous as  old  Father  Ducros  himself?  By  the  way,  I 
saw  Father  Ducros;  he  's  just  back  from  Cuba.  I 
met  him  yesterday,  and  he  asked  me  why  you  did  n't 
come  to  church." 

Madame  went  out  to  see  about  the  new  venture 
with  Father  Ducros's  name  ringing  in  her  ears,  and 
was  absent  for  several  hours.  When  she  returned 
she  found  the  house  closed  and  Raste  gone. 

In  a  moment  Lady  Jane  came  running  with  the 
key.  Mr.  Raste  had  brought  it  to  her,  and  had  told 
her  that  he  was  tired  tending  shop,  and  was  going 
for  a  walk. 

Madame  smiled,  and  said  as  she  took  the  key : 

"  I  thought  so ;  I  thought  he  'd  get  tired  of  it,  but 


LADY  JANE  225 

I  can't  expect  him  to  keep  closely  to  business  just  at 
first." 

She  took  off  her  bonnet  and  veil,  and  put  them 
away ;  then  went  limping  about  the  room,  putting  it 
in  order.  From  time  to  time  she  smiled.  She  had 
met  Madame  Paichoux  and  Marie  in  the  Bon  Marche 
on  Rue  Royale,  and  they  had  been  very  agreeable. 
Madame  Paichoux  had  even  invited  her  to  come 
and  dine  with  them,  to  meet  Marie's  fiance.  At  last 
they  were  beginning  to  see  that  she  was  worthy  of 
some  attention,  she  thought. 

Now,  if  Raste  would  only  behave  himself,  they 
could  do  very  well.  With  the  ready  money  she  had 
hidden  away  and  by  using  her  credit  she  could  buy 
a  large  stock  of  goods.  She  would  have  more 
shelves  put  up,  and  a  counter,  and  a  fine  show-case 
in  the  window ;  and  there  was  the  store  on  the  corner 
which  Raste  could  fit  up  as  a  grocery.  Suddenly 
she  remembered  that  her  rent  was  due,  and  that  it 
was  about  time  for  her  landlord's  visit.  She  took 
out  her  pocket  book  and  counted  its  contents.  She 
had  been  rather  extravagant  at  the  Bon  Marche,  to 
impress  Madame  Paichoux,  and  had  spent  far  more 
than  she  intended.  She  found  that  she  lacked  a  few 
dollars  of  the  amount  due  for  rent. 


226  LADY  JANE 

"  I  must  borrow  it  from  the  private  bank,"  she 
said  jocosely,  as  she  unlocked  her  bureau. 

With  the  peculiar  slyness  of  such  people,  she 
thought  her  hoard  safer  when  not  too  securely  con- 
cealed. Therefore  she  had  folded  up  the  whole  of 
her  year's  savings,  with  the  amount  taken  from  Lady 
Jane's  mother,  inside  of  a  pair  of  partly  worn 
gloves,  which  were  thrown  carelessly  among  her 
other  clothing  in  the  drawer.  It  was  true  she  al- 
ways kept  her  bureau  locked,  and  the  key  was  hidden, 
and  she  seldom  left  her  house  alone.  But  even  if 
any  one  should  break  it  open,  she  thought  they  would 
never  think  of  unrolling  those  old  gloves. 

When  she  opened  the  bureau  it  seemed  very  dis- 
orderly. "  I  did  n't  surely  leave  my  things  in  such 
confusion,"  she  said,  nervously  clutching  at  the 
gloves,  which  were  startlirigly  conspicuous.  With 
trembling  hands  and  beating  heart  she  unfolded 
them,  but  instead  of  the  roll  of  notes  only  a  slip  of 
paper  was  found. 

The  gloves  dropped  from  her  nerveless  fingers, 
and,  staggering  to  her  bed,  she  sat  down  on  the  edge 
and  read  the  large  characters,  which  were  only  too 
familiar  and  distinct,  although  they  danced  and 
wavered  before  her  eyes : 


LADY  JANE  227 

DEAR  MAMA: 

I  've  decided  not  to  go  into  partnership  with  you,  so  I  '11 
take  the  capital  and  you  can  keep  the  credit.  The  next 
time  that  you  secrete  from  your  dutiful  son  money  that 
you  have  no  right  to,  don't  hide  it  in  your  old  gloves. 
It  is  n't  safe.  I  'm  going  away  on  a  little  trip.  I  need  a 
change  after  my  close  application  to  business.  By  the 
way,  you  can  tell  your  inquisitive  neighbors  that  I  've  gone 
out  to  my  uncle's  ranch  in  Texas. 

Your  affectionate  and  devoted  son, 

ADRASTE  JOZAIN. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  JEWEL-BOX 

THE  next  day  after  Raste's  sudden  departure, 
Madame  Jozain  sat  in  her  doorway  looking 
very  old  and  worn ;  her  face  was  of  a  settled  pallor, 
and  her  eyes  had  a  dazed,  bewildered  expression,  as 
if  she  had  received  a  heavy  blow  that  had  left  her 
numb  and  stupid.  At  times  she  put  her  hand  to 
her  head  and  muttered,  "  Who  would  have  thought 
it?  Who  would  have  thought  it?  His  mother,  his 
own  mother,  and  I  've  always  been  so  good  to  him." 
Suddenly  she  seemed  to  have  lost  her  interest  in 
her  business,  her  customers,  and  even  her  domestic 
affairs.  Her  little  store  was  more  untidy  than  any 
one  had  ever  seen  it.  When  a  neighbor  entered  to 
buy  a  trifle,  or  to  gossip  for  a  few  moments,  madame 
made  an  effort  to  appear  cheerful  and  chatty,  but 
that  it  was  an  effort  was  evident  to  all.  At  last 
some  one  asked  if  she  were  ill. 

"  Well,  not  exactly,"  she  answered  uneasily,  "  but 
228 


LADY  JANE  229 

I  might  as  well  be.  The  fact  is  I  'm  fretting  about 
that  boy  of  mine;  he  took  it  in  his  head  yesterday 
to  go  away  to  his  uncle's  ranch.  I  miss  him  very 
much.  I  can't  get  along  without  him,  and  I 
should  n't  wonder  if  I  should  go  too." 

When  Pepsie  asked  what  was  the  matter  with 
"  Xante  Pauline,"  Lady  Jane  answered,  as  she  had 
been  instructed,  that  Xante  Pauline  had  headaches, 
because  Mr.  Raste  had  gone  away  and  was  n't  com- 
ing home  for  a  long  time. 

"  Madame  Jozain  is  fretting  about  her  son's  go- 
ing away,"  observed  Madame  Fernandez  to  her  hus- 
band, looking  acrpss  the  street.  "  She  's  been  sit- 
ting there  all  the  morning  so  lonesome  and  miser- 
able that  I  'm  sorry  for  her.  But  there  's  some  one 
coming  to  see  her  now.  A  stranger,  and  so  well- 
dressed.  I  wonder  who  it  can  be." 

Xhe  new-comer  was  a  stranger  to  Madame 
Fernandez,  but  Madame  Jozain  welcomed  her  as  an 
old  friend;  she  sprang  up  with  sudden  animation 
and  shook  hands  warmly. 

"  Why,  Madame  Hortense,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  what  chance  brings  you  to  my  little  place?  " 

"  A  happy  chance  for  you,"  replied  Madame  Hor- 
tense, laughing.  "  I  've  come  to  bring  you  money. 


230  LADY  JANE 

I  've  sold  the  little  jewel-case  you  left  with  me  the 
other  day,  and  sold  it  very  well,  too." 

"Now,  did  you?  How  good  of  you,  my  dear! 
I  'm  so  glad  —  for  the  child's  sake." 

"  Would  you  believe  that  I  got  twenty-five  dol- 
lars for  it?  .You  know  you  said  I  might  sell  it  for 
ten;  but  I  got  twenty-five,  and  I  think  I  could  have 
sold  it  for  more  easily.  It  is  solid  silver  and  an 
exquisite  thing." 

"  Yes,  it  was  of  the  best  workmanship,"  sighed 
madame. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you  how  I  happened  to  sell  it 
for  such  "a  high  price.  It 's  very  strange,  and  per- 
haps you  can  throw  some  light  on  the  matter.  One 
of  my  best  customers  happened  to  come  in  last 
evening  —  Mrs.  Lanier,  of  Jackson  Street.  You 
know  Lanier,  the  banker.  They  are  very  rich  peo- 
ple. She  was  looking  over  the  things  in  my  show- 
case, when  she  suddenly  exclaimed  as  if  surprised: 

"  Why,  Madame  Hortense,  where  did  you  get 
this?"  I  turned  around,  and  she  had  the  little 
jewel-box  in  her  hand,  examining  it  closely,  and  I 
saw  that  she  was  quite  pale  and  excited. 

"  Of  course  I  told  her  all  I  knew  about  it;  that  a 


LADY  JANE  231 

friend  had  given  it  to  me  to  sell,  and  so  on.  But 
she  interrupted  me  by  asking  where  my  friend  got  it, 
and  all  sorts  of  questions ;  and  all  the  while,  she  was 
looking  at  it  as  if  she  could  n't  imagine  how  it  got 
there.  I  could  only  tell  her  that  you  gave  it  to  me. 
Then  she  asked  other  questions,  so  excitedly  that  I 
could  n't  help  showing  my  surprise.  But  I  could  n't 
give  her  the  information  she  wanted,  so  I  wrote  your 
name  and  address  for  her,  and  told  her  to  come  and 
see  you,  and  that  you  would  be  able  to  tell  her  all 
about  it." 

During  Madame  Hortense's  hasty  and  rather  con- 
fused narrative  Madame  Jozain  turned  an  ashy 
white;  and  her  eyes  took  on  a  hunted  expression, 
while  she  followed  with  a  set,  ghastly  smile  every 
word  of  her  friend's  story. 

At  length  she  found  strength  and  composure  to 
say: 

"  Why,  no  wonder  you  were  surprised.  Did  n't 
she  tell  you  why  she  wanted  to  know?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  saw  that  I  was  very  much  puz- 
zled, for  after  looking  at  it  sadly  for  some  time,  she 
said  that  it  was  a  mystery  how  it  came  there;  that 
she  had  given  that  little  casket  to  a  schoolmate  ten 


232  LADY  JANE 

years  before,  while  at  school  in  New  York ;  that  she 
had  had  it  made  especially  for  her,  and  that  her 
friend's  initials,  J.  C,  were  on  it." 

"  Dear,  dear,  only  think !  Some  old  schoolmate, 
I  suppose,"  said  Madame  Jozain  hastily. 

"  Then  she  asked  me  if  I  would  sell  her  the  little 
box;  and  I  said  certainly  I  would,  that  it  was  put 
there  to  sell.  Seeing  how  anxious  she  was  to  get  it, 
I  thought  I  would  put  the  price  at  twenty-five  dol- 
lars, although  I  did  n't  much  think  she  'd  give  it. 
But  she  never  said  a  word  about  the  price ;  she  paid 
it  in  a  dazed  way,  took  your  address  that  I  'd  written 
for  her,  and  went  out,  carrying  the  little  casket  with 
her.  I  suppose  she  '11  be  here  to-day  or  to-morrow 
to  see  you ;  and  so  I  thought  I  'd  hurry  down  and 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  And  your  commission  ?  "  said  Madame  Jozain, 
with  a  visible  effort,  as  the  milliner  laid  the  money 
on  the  table. 

"  Oh,  par  exemple,"  Madame  Jozain !  As  if  I 
would !  No,  no ;  we  're  too  old  friends.  I  cannot 
take  pay  for  doing  you  a  little  favor.  And  besides, 
I  'm  glad  to  do  it  for  the  dear  child.  She  must  be 
a  great  anxiety  to  you." 

"  She  is ! "  returned  madame,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 


LADY  JANE  233 

"  but  she  has  some  property  in  Texas,  I  believe. 
My  son  has  just  gone  there,  and  I  'm  thinking  of  go- 
ing too.  I  'm  very  lonely  here." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Madame  Hortense,  surprised. 
"  Why,  you  are  so  well  placed  here.  Shall  you  go 
soon  ?  " 

"  Before  very  long,"  replied  madame,  who  did 
not  care  to  be  more  definite. 

"  Well,  come  and  see  me  before  you  go." 

Madame  Hortense  drew  down  her  veil,  and  rose 
to  leave.  "  I  'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  longer  to  chat 
with  you ;  I  'm  busy,  very  busy.  Now  mind,  be  sure 
to  come  and  say  good-by,"  and  with  a  cordial  an 
revoir  the  little  milliner  hurried  down  the  steps  and 
out  of  sight  around  the  corner. 

For  some  time  after  her  visitor  had  gone,  Ma- 
dame Jozain  stood  quite  still  in  the  middle  of  her 
little  shop,  with  her  hands  pressed  to  her  head  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  At  length  she  muttered 
to  herself:  "She'll  come  here;  yes,  she'll  come 
here!  I  can't  see  her;  I  can't  tell  her  where  I  got 
that  box.  I  must  get  away  at  once.  I  must  go  out 
and  find  another  place.  There  '11  be  no  more  peace 
on  earth  for  me !  My  punishment 's  begun !  " 

Then  madame  hurriedly  put  on  her  best  gown 


234  LADY  JANE 

and  bonnet,  and  calling  across  to  Lady  Jane,  who 
was  with  Pepsie,  she  said  she  was  going  out  on 
business,  and  that  she  might  not  be  back  for  some 
time. 


THE   FLIGHT 

LATE  that  same  afternoon,  Madame  Jozain  was 
limping  slowly  and  wearily  through  a  narrow 
street  at  the  other  end  of  the  city,  miles  away  from 
Good  Children  Street,  when  she  saw  an  old  negro 
sitting  on  a  furniture-wagon  to  which  two  mules 
were  harnessed. 

"Is  that  you,  Pete?"  she  asked,  stopping  and 
looking  at  him. 

"  Why,  law,  yes,  it 's  me,  Miss  Pauline,  an'  I  is 
mighty  glad  ter  see  yer,"  said  the  old  man,  climbing 
down. 

"  And  I  'm  glad  to  find  you,  Pete.  I  see  you  've 
got  a  wagon.  Is  it  yours?  " 

"  Well,  't  ain't  edzectly  mine,  Miss  Pauline.  I  is 
hired  it.  But  I  is  a-drivin'  it." 

"  I  was  just  looking  for  some  one  to  move  me 
to-night,  Pete." 

"Ter-night,  Miss  Pauline?  Why,  we  doesn't 
often  work  a'ter  sundown,  an'  it 's  mos'  dat  now." 

235 


236  LADY  JANE 

"  What  do  you  charge  for  a  load,  Pete,  when  you 
move  furniture?" 

"  I   mos'   gen'ly   charges   two   dollars  a  load  - 
when  it  ain't  too  fur,  Miss  Pauline,"  he  answered 
slowly. 

"  Well  it  is  far,  Pete ;  it  is  from  Good  Children 
Street." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Pauline,  I  can't  do  dat  dar  ter-night. 
My  mules  is  too  tired  for  dat." 

Madame  stood  still  and  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  See  here,  Pete,"  she  said  at  length  in  a  tone 
of  decision ;  "  I  want  you  to  remember  that  you 
belonged  to  our  family  once,  and  I  want  you  to 
listen  to  me,  and  do  what  I  tell  you.  You  're  to  ask 
no  questions,  nor  answer  none ;  mind  that !  You  're 
to  keep  your  tongue  still.  Take  your  mules  out 
now,  and  give  them  a  good  feed,  and  let  them  rest 
awhile.  Then  be  at  my  house  by  ten  this  evening. 
That  will  be  soon  enough,  for  I  've  got  to  pack.  If 
you  '11  move  me  quietly,  and  without  any  fuss,  I  '11 
give  you  ten  dollars  for  the  load." 

"  Ten  dollars,  Miss  Pauline?  "  and  the  old  darky 
grinned.  "  Bress  yer,  miss,  I  is  a  mind  ter  try  it  — 
but  it 's  a  mighty  long  road !  " 

"  You  've  got  plenty  of  time ;  you  need  n't  hurry. 


LADY  JANE  237 

Bring  a  man  to  help,  and  leave  your  wagon  in  the 
side  street.  I  want  the  things  taken  out  the  back 
way,  and  no  noise.  Mind  what  I  say,  no  noise." 

"  All  right,  Miss  Pauline,  I'll  be  dar  shore.  An' 
yer  '11  gib  me  ten  dollars  ?  " 

'''  Yes,  ten  dollars,"  replied  madame,  as  she  limped 
away  to  take  the  street-car. 

Some  of  Madame  Jozain's  neighbors  remembered 
afterward  that  they  slept  badly  that  night  —  had 
uneasy  dreams  and  heard  mysterious  noises ;  but  as 
there  was  a  thunder-storm  about  daybreak,  they  had 
concluded  that  it  was  the  electricity  in  the  air  which 
caused  their  restlessness.  However,  Pepsie  after- 
ward insisted  that  she  had  heard  Lady  Jane  cry  out, 
and  call  "  Pepsie!  "  as  if  in  great  distress  or  fear, 
and  that  about  the  same  time  there  were  sounds  of 
hushed  voices,  rumbling  of  wheels,  and  other  mys- 
terious noises.  But  her  mother  had  told  her  she  was 
dreaming. 

So  upset  was  Pepsie  by  the  night's  experience  that 
she  looked  quite  pale  and  ill  as  she  sat  by  her  window 
next  morning,  waiting  for  Madame  Jozain  to  open 
the  shutters  and  doors. 

How  strange !  It  was.  eight  o'clock,  and  still  no 
sign  of  life  in  the  house  opposite!  The  milkman 


238  LADY  JANE 

had  rung  his  bell  in  vain ;  the  brick-dust  vender  had 
set  his  bucket  of  powdered  brick  on  the  very  steps, 
and  shrieked  his  discordant  notes  close  to  the  door; 
the  clothes-pole  man  had  sung  his  dismal  song,  and 
the  snap-bean  woman  had  chanted  her  three  syllables, 
not  unmusically,  and  yet  no  one  appeared  to  open 
the  door  of  Madame  Jozain's  house. 

At  last  Pepsie  could  endure  her  suspense  no 
longer. 

"  You  go  and  see  what  is  the  matter,"  she  said  to 
her  little  handmaid. 

So  Tite  zigzagged  across  the  street,  flew  up  the 
steps,  and  pounded  vigorously  on  the  door;  then 
she  tried  the  shutters  and  the  gate,  and  finally  even 
climbed  the  fence,  and  peeped  in  at  the  black  win- 
dows. In  a  trice  she  was  back,  gasping  and  wild- 
eyed: 

"Bress  yer,  Miss  Peps'.  Wat  I  done  tol'  yer? 
Dem  's  all  gone.  Ain't  a  stick  or  nofin'  in  dat  dar 
house!  Jes'  ez  empty  ez  a  gourd! " 

At  first  Pepsie  would  not  believe  the  dreadful 
news;  but  finally,  when  she  was  convinced  that 
madame  had  fled  in  the  night  and  taken  Lady  Jane 
with  her,  she  sank  into  the  very  depths  of  woe  and 
refused  to  be  comforted. 


LADY  JANE  239 

Then  Paichoux  and  Tante  Modeste  were  called 
into  a  family  council,  and  Paichoux  did  his  very  best 
to  solve  the  mystery.  But  all  he  could  learn  was 
from  madame's  landlord,  who  said  that  Madame  Jo- 
zain  had  paid  her  rent  and  given  up  her  key,  saying 
that  she  had  decided,  very  suddenly,  to  follow  her 
son.  This  was  all  the  information  the  landlord 
could  give,  and  Paichoux  returned  dejectedly  with 
this  meager  result. 

"  I  had  my  plans,"  he  said,  "  and  I  was  waiting 
for  the  right  moment  to  put  them  in  operation. 
Now,  the  child  has  disappeared,  and  I  can  do  noth- 
ing." 

The  next  day  Pepsie,  sitting  sorrowfully  at  her 
window,  trying  to  find  consolation  in  a  game  of 
solitaire,  saw  a  private  carriage  drive  up  to  the 
empty  house  and  wait,  while  the  servant  made  in- 
quiries for  Madame  Jozain. 

"  Madame  Jozain  did  live  there,"  said  M.  Fernan- 
dez politely,  "  but  she  went  away  between  two  days, 
and  we  know  nothing  at  all  about  her.  There  was 
something  strange  about  it,  or  she  never  would  have 
left  without  telling  her  friends  good-by,  and  leaving 
some  future  address." 

The  servant  imparted  this  scanty  information  to 


240  LADY  JANE 

the  lady  in  the  carriage,  who  drove  away  looking 
greatly  disappointed. 

The  arrival  of  this  elegant  visitor  directly  follow- 
ing upon  madame's  flight  furnished  a  subject  for 
romantic  conjecture. 

"  I  should  n't  Wonder,"  said  Pepsie,  "  if  that  was 
Lady's  mama,  who  has  come  back  after  all!  Oh, 
how  dreadful  that  she  was  n't  here  to  see  her!  "  and 
then  poor  Pepsie  cried,  and  would  not  be  consoled. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   LITTLE   STREET    SINGER 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  very  nearly  dark, 
when  Mrs.  Lanier,  driving  up  St.  Charles  Ave- 
nue in  her  comfortable  carriage  quite  filled  with 
costly  presents  for  her  children,  noticed  a  forlorn 
little  figure,  standing  alone  at  a  street  corner. 
There  was  something  about  the  sorrowful  looking 
little  figure  that  moved  her  strangely,  for  she  turned 
and  watched  it  as  long  as  she  could  discern  the 
child's  face  in  the  gathering  twilight. 

It  was  a  little  girl,  thinly  clad  in  a  soiled  and  torn 
white  frock;  her  black  stockings  were  full  of  holes, 
and  her  shoes  so  worn  that  the  tiny  white  toes  were 
visible  through  the'  rents.  She  hugged  a  thin,  faded 
shawl  around  her  shoulders,  and  her  yellow  hair  fell 
in  matted,  tangled  strands  below  her  waist ;  her  small 
'  face  was  pale  and  pinched,  and  had  a  woe-begone 
look  that  would  melt  the  hardest  heart.  Although 
she  was  soiled  and  ragged,  she  did  not  look  like  a 

241 


242  LADY  JANE 

common  child,  and  it  was  that  indefinable  something 
in  her  appearance  that  attracted  Mrs.  Lanier's  at- 
tention, for  she  thought  as.  the  carriage  whirled  by 
and  left  the  child  far  behind,  "Poor  little  thing! 
she  did  n't  look  like  a  street  beggar.  I  wish  I  had 
stopped  and  spoken  to  her !  " 

It  was  Lady  Jane,  and  her  descent  in  the  scale  of 
misery  had  been  rapid  indeed. 

Since  that  night,  some  four  months  before,  when 
Madame  Jozain  had  awakened  her  rudely  and  told 
her  she  must  come  away,  she  had  lived  in  a  sort  of 
wretched  stupor.  It  was  true  she  had  resisted  at 
first,  and  had  cried  desperately  for  Pepsie,  for  Mam'- 
selle  Diane,  for  Gex  —  but  all  in  vain ;  Madame  had 
scolded  and  threatened  and  frightened  her  into  sub- 
mission. 

• 

That  terrible  midnight  ride  in  the  wagon,  with 

the  piled-up  furniture,  the  two  black  drivers,  w-ho 
seemed  to  the  child's  distorted  imagination  two 
frightful  demons,  madame  angry,  and  at  times  vio- 
lent if  she  complained  or  cried,  and  the  frightful 
threats  and  cruel  hints  of  a  more  dreadful  fate,  had 
so  crushed  and  appalled  the  child  that  she  scarcely 
dared  open  her  pale  little  lips  either  to  protest  or 
plead. 


LADY  JANE  243 

Then  the  pitiful  change  in  her  life,  from  loving 
care  and  pleasant  companionship  to  utter  squalid 
misery  and  neglect.  She  had  been  suddenly  taken 
from  comparative  comfort  and  plunged  into  the 
most  cruel  poverty.  Good  Children  Street  had  been 
a  paradise  compared  to  the  narr'ow,  dirty  lane,  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  where  madame  had  hidden  her- 
self;  for  the  wretched  woman,  in  her  fear  and  hu- 
miliation, seemed  to  have  lost  every  vestige  of  am- 
bition, and  to  have  sunk  without  the  least  effort  to 
save  herself,  to  a  level  with  those  around  her. 

Madame  had  taken  a  terrible,  cold  in  her  hurried 
flight,  and  it  had  settled  in  her  lame  hip;  therefore 
she  was  obliged  to  lie  in  her  bed  most  of  the  time, 
and  the  little  money  she  had  was  soon  spent.  Hun- 
ger was  staring  her  in  the  face,  and  the  cold  autumn 
winds  chilled  her  to  the  marrow.  She  had  been 
poor  and  in  many  bitter  straits,  but  never  before 
like  this.  Now  she  dared  not  let  any  one  know  of 
her  whereabouts,  and  for  that  reason  the  few  friends 
that  she  still  had  could  not  help  her.  She  was  ill 
and  suffering,  and  alone  in  her  misery.  Her  son 
had  robbed  and  deserted  her,  and  left  her  to  her 
punishment,  and,  for  all  she  knew,  she  must  die  of 
starvation.  Through  the  aid  of  the  negro  Pete,  she 


244  LADY  JANE 

had  parted  with  nearly  everything  of  value  that  she 
had,  and,  to  crown  her  cruelty  and  Lady  Jane's 
misery,  one  day  when  the  child  was  absent  on  a 
begging  expedition  she  sold  the  blue  heron  to  an 
Italian  for  two  dollars. 

The  bird  was  the  only  comfort  the  unhappy  little 
creature  had,  the  only  link  between  the  past  and  the 
miserable  present,  and  when  she  returned  to  her 
squalid  home  and  found  her  only  treasure  gone,  her 
grief  was  so  wild  and  uncontrollable  that  madame 
feared  for  her  life.  Therefore,  in  order  to  quiet 
the  child,  she  said  the  bird  had  broken  his  string 
and  strayed  away. 

After  this,  the  child  spent  her  days  wandering 
about  searching  for  Tony. 

When  madame  first  sent  her  out  into  the  street  to 
sing  and  beg,  she  went  without  a  protest,  so  perfect 
was  her  habit  of  obedience,  and  so  great  her  anxiety 
to  please  and  conciliate  her  cruel  tyrant.  For,  since 
the  night  when  madame  fled  from  Good  Children 
Street,  she  had  thrown  off  all  her  pretenses  of  af- 
fection for  the  hapless  little  one,  whom  she  con- 
sidered the  cause  of  all  her  misfortunes. 

"  She  has  made  trouble  enough  for  me,"  she 
would  say  bitterly,  in  her  hours  of  silent  com- 


LADY  JANE  245 

munion  with  her  own  conscience.  "If  it  hadn't 
been  for  her  mother  coming  to  me,  Raste  would  n't 
have  had  that  watch  and  would  n't  have  got  locked 
up  for  thirty  days.  After  that  disgrace,  he  could  n't 
stay  here,  and  that  was  the  cause  of  his  taking  my 
money  and  running  off.  Yes,  all  my  trouble  has 
come  through  her  in  one  way  or  another,  and  now 
she  must  sing  and  beg,  or  she  '11  have  to  starve." 

Before  madame  sent  her  out,  she  gave  Lady  Jane 
instructions  in  the  most  imperative  manner.  "  She 
must  never  on  any  account  speak  of  Good  Children 
Street,  of  Madelon  or  Pepsie,  of  the  d'Hautreves,  of 
Gex,  or  the  Paichoux,  or  of  any  one  she  had  ever 
known  there.  She  must  not  talk  with  people,  and, 
above  all,  she  must  never  tell  her  name,  nor  where 
she  lived.  She  must  only  sing  and  hold  out  her 
hand.  Sometimes  she  might  cry  if  she  wanted  to, 
but  she  must  never  laugh." 

These  instructions  the  child  lollowed  to  the  letter, 
with  the  exception  of  one.  She  never  cried,  for  al- 
though her  little  heart  was  breaking  she  was  too 
proud  to  shed  tears. 

It  was  astonishing  how  many  nickels  she  picked 
up.  Sometimes  she  would  come  home  with  her 
little  pocket  quite  heavy,  for  her  wonderful  voice, 


246  LADY  JANE 

so  sweet  and  so  pathetic,  as  well  as  her  sad  face  and 
wistful  eyes,  touched  many  a  heart,  even  among  the 
coarsest  and  rudest,  and  madame  might  have  reaped 
quite  a  harvest  if  she  had  not  been  so  avaricious  as 
to  sell  Tony  for  two  dollars.  When  she  did  that  she 
killed  her  goose  that  laid  golden  eggs,  for  after  the 
loss  of  her  pet  the  child  could  not  sing;  her  little 
heart  was  too  heavy,  and  the  unshed  tears  choked  her 
and  drowned  her  voice  in  quivering  sobs. 

The  moment  she  was  out  of  Tante  Pauline's  sight, 
instead  of  gathering  nickels,  she  was  wandering 
around  aimlessly,  searching  and  asking  for  the  blue 
heron,  and  at  night,  when  she  returned  with  an 
empty  pocket,  she  shivered  and  cowered  into  a  corner 
for  fear  of  madame' s  anger. 

One  morning  it  was  very  cold;  she  had  had  no 
breakfast,  and  she  felt  tired  and  ill,  and  when 
madame  told  her  to  go  out  and  not  to  come  back 
without  some  money,  she  fell  to  crying  piteously, 
and  for  the  first  time  begged  and  implored  to  stay 
where  she  was,  declaring  that  she  could  not  sing 
any  more,  and  that  she  was  afraid,  because  some 
rude  children  had  thrown  mud  at  her  the  day  before, 
and  told  her  not  to  come  into  the  street  again. 


LADY  JANE  247 

This  first  revolt  seemed  to  infuriate  madame,  for 
reaching  out  to  where  the  child  stood  trembling  and 
sobbing  she  clutched  her  and  shook  her  violently, 
and  then  slapping  her  tear-stained  little  face  until  it 
tingled,  she  bade  her  go  out  instantly,  and  not  to 
return  unless  she  brought  some  money  with  her. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  Lady  Jane  had  suf- 
fered the  ignominy  of  a  blow,  and  it  seemed  to 
arouse  her  pride  and  indignation,  for  she  stopped 
sobbing  instantly,  and,  wiping  the  tears  resolutely 
from  Her  face,  shot  one  glance  of  mingled  scorn  and 
surprise  at  her  tyrant,  and  walked  out  of  the  room 
with  the  dignity  of  a  little  princess. 

When  once  outside,  she  held  her  hands  for  a 
moment  to  her  burning  face,  while  she  tried  to  still 
the  tumult  of  anger  and  sorrow  that  was  raging  in 
her  little  heart;  then  she  gathered  herself  together 
with  a  courage  beyond  her  years,  and  hurried  away 
without  once  looking  back  at  the  scene  of  her  tor- 
ture. 

When  she  was  far  enough  from  the  wretched 
neighborhood  to  feel  safe  from  observation,  she 
turned  in  a  direction  quite  different  from  any  she 
had  taken  before.  The  wind  was  intensely  cold,  but 


248  LADY  JANE 

the  sun  shone,  brightly,  and  she  hugged  her  little 
shawl  around  her,  and  ran  on  and  on  swiftly  and 
hopefully. 

"  If  I  hurry  and  walk  and  walk  just  as  fast  as  I 
can,  I  'm  sure  to  come  to  Good  Children  Street, 
and  then  I  '11  ask  Pepsie  or  Mam'selle  Diane  to  keep 
me,  for  I  '11  never,  never,  go  back  to  Xante  Pauline 
again." 

By  and  by,  when  she  was  quite  tired  with  running 
and  walking,  she  came  to  a  beautiful,  broad  avenue 
that  she  had  never  seen  before.  There  were  large, 
fine  houses,  and  gardens  blooming  brightly  even  in 
the  chilly  December  wind,  and  lovely  children, 
dressed  in  warm  velvet  and  furs,  walking  with  their 
nurses  on  the  wide,  clean  sidewalks ;  and  every  mo- 
ment carriages  drawn  by  glossy,  prancing  horses 
whirled  by,  and  people  laughed  and  talked  merrily, 
and  looked  so  happy  and  contented.  She  had  never 
seen  anything  like  it  before.  It  was  all  delightful, 
like  a  pleasant  dream,  and  even  better  than  Good 
Children  Street.  She- thought  of  Pepsie,  and  wished 
that  she  could  see  it,  and  then  she  imagined  how 
enchanted  her  friend  would  be*  to  ride  in  one  of 
those  fine  carriages,  with  the  sun  shining  on  her, 


LADY  JANE  249 

and  the  fresh  wind  blowing  in  her  face.  The  wind 
reminded  her  that  she  was  cold.  It  pierced  through 
her  thin  frock  and  scanty  skirts,  and  the  holes  in 
her  shoes  and  stockings  made  her  ashamed.  After 
a  while  she  found  a  sunny  corner  on  the  steps  of  a 
qhurch,  where  she  crouched  and  tried  to  cover  her 
dilapidated  shoes  with  her  short  skirts. 

Presently  a  merry  group  of  children  passed,  and 
she  heard  them  talking  of  Christmas.  "  To-morrow 
is  Christmas;  this  is  Christmas  Eve,  and  we  are 
going  to  have  a  Christmas-tree."  Her  heart  gave 
a  great  throb  of  joy.  By  to-morrow  she  was  sure 
to  find  Pepsie,  and  Pepsie  had  promised  her  a  Christ- 
mas-tree long  ago,  and  she  would  n't  forget ;  she  was 
sure  to  have  it  ready  for  her.  OH,  if  she  only 
dared  ask  some  of  these  kind-looking  people  to  show 
her  the  way  to  Good  Children  Street!  But  she  re- 
membered what  Tante  Pauline  had  told  her,  and 
fear  kept  her  silent.  However,  she  was  sure,  now 
that  she  had  got  away  from  that  dreadful  place,  that 
some  one  would  find  her.  Mr.  Gex  had  found  her 
before  when  she  was  lost,  and  he  might  find  her  now, 
because  she  did  n't  have  a  domino  on,  and  he  would 
know  her  right  away;  and  then  she  would  get  Mr. 


250  LADY  JANE 

Gex  to  hunt  for  Tony,  and  perhaps  she  would  have 
Tony  for  Christmas.  In  this  way  she  comforted 
herself  until  she  was  quite  happy. 

After  a  while  a  kind-looking  woman  came  along 
with  a  market-basket  on  her  arm.  She  was  eating 
something,  and  Lady  Jane,  being  very  hungry 
looked  at  her  so  wistfully  that  the  woman  stopped 
and  asked  her  if  she  would  like  a  piece  of  bread. 
She  replied  eagerly  that  she  would.  The  good 
woman  gave  her  a  roll  and  a  large,  rosy  apple,  and 
she  went  back  to  her  corner  and  munched  them  con- 
tentedly. Then  a  fine  milk-cart  rattled  up  to  a 
neighboring  doOr,  and  her  heart  almost  leaped  to 
her  throat;  but  it  was  not  Tante  Modeste.  Still, 
Tante  Modeste  might  come,  any  moment.  She  sold 
milk  way  up  town  to  rich  people.  Yes,  she  was 
sure  to  come;  so  she  sat  in  her  corner  and  ate  her 
apple,  and  waited  with  unwavering  confidence. 

And  in  this  way  the  day  passed  pleasantly  and 
comfortably  to  Lady  Jane.  She  was  not  very  cold 
in  her  sheltered  corner,  and  the  good  woman's  kind- 
ness had  satisfied  her  hunger ;  but  at  last  she  began 
to  think  that  it  must  be  nearly  night,  for  she  saw 
the  sun  slipping  down  into  the  cold,  gray  clouds 
behind  the  opposite  houses,  and  she  wondered  what 


LADY  JANE  251 

she  should  do  and  where  she  should  go  when  it  was 
quite  dark.  Neither  Tante  Modeste  nor  Mr.  Gex 
had  come,  and  now  it  was  too  late  and  she  would 
have  to  wait  until  to-morrow.  Then  she  began  to 
reproach  herself  for  sitting  still.  "  I  should  have 
gone  on  and.  on,  and  by  this  time  I  would  have  been 
in  Good  Children  Street,"  said  she. 

She  never"  thought  of  returning  to  her  old  haunts 
or  to  Tante  Pauline,  and  if  she  had  tried  she  could 
not  have  found  her  way  back.  She  had  wandered 
too  far  from  her  old  landmarks,  so  the  only  thing 
to  do  was  to  press  on  in  her  search  for  Good  Chil- 
dren Street.  It  was  while  she  was  standing  at  a 
corner,  uncertain  which  way  to  turn,  that  Mrs. 
Lanier  caught  a  glimpse  of  her.  And  what  good 
fortune  it  would  have  been  to  Lady  Jane  if  that 
noble-hearted  woman  had  obeyed  the  kindly  impulse 
that  urged  her  to  stop  and  speak  to  the  friendless  lit- 
tle waif !  But  destiny  intended  it  to  be  otherwise,  so 
she  went  on  her  way  to  her  luxurious  home  and 
happy  children,  while  the  desolate  orphan  wandered 
about  in  the  cold  and  darkness,  looking  in  vain  for 
the  humble  friends  who  even  at  that  moment  were 
thinking  of  her  and  longing  for  her. 

Poor  little  soul!  she  had  never  been  out  in  the 


252  LADY  JANE 

dark  night  alone  before,  and  every  sound  and  move- 
ment startled  her.  Once  a  dog  sprang  out  and 
barked  at  her,  and  she  ran  trembling  into  a  doorway, 
only  to  be  ordered  away  by  an  unkind  servant. 
Sometimes  she  stopped  and  looked  into  the  windows 
of  the  beautiful  houses  as  she  passed.  There  were 
bright  fires,  pictures,  and  flowers,  and  she  heard  the 
merry  voices  of  children  laughing  and  playing;  and 
the  soft  notes  of  a  piano,  with  some  one  singing, 
reminded -her  of  Mam'selle  Diane.  Then  a  choking 
sob  would  rise  in  her  throat,  and  she  would  cover 
her  face  and  cry  a  little  silently. 

Presently  she  found  herself  before  a  large,  hand- 
some house;  the  blinds  were  open  and  the  parlor 
was  brilliantly  lighted.  A  lady  —  it  was  Mrs. 
Lanier  —  sat  at  the  piano  playing  a  waltz,  and  two 
little  girls  in  white  frocks  and  red  sashes  were 
dancing  together.  Lady  Jane  pressed  near  the  rail- 
ing and  devoured  the  scene  with  wide,  sparkling 
eyes.  They  were  the  same  steps  that  Gex  had  taught 
her,  and  it  was  the  very  waltz  that  he  sometimes 
whistled.  Before  she  knew  it,  quite  carried  away 
by  the  music,  and  forgetful  of  everything,  she 
dropped  her  shawl,  and  holding  out  her  soiled  ragged 
skirt,  was  tripping  and  whirling  as  merrily  as  the 


LADY  JANE  253 

little  ones  within,  while  opposite  to  her,  her  shadow, 
thrown  by  a  street  lamp  over  her  head,  tripped  and 
bobbed  and  whirled,  not  unlike  Mr.  Gex,  the  an- 

t 

cient  "  professeur  of  the  dance."  And  a  right  merry 
time  she  had  out  there  in  the  biting  December  night, 
pirouetting  with  her  own  shadow. 

Suddenly  the  music  stopped,  a  nurse  came  and 
took  the  little  girls  away,  and  some  one  drew  down 
the  blinds  and  shut  her  out  alone  in  the  cold;  there 
was  nothing  then  for  her  to  do  but  to  move  on, 
and  picking  up  her  shawl,  she  crept  away  a  little 
wearily,  for  dancing,  although  it  had  lightened  her 
heart,  had  wasted  her  strength,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  wind  was  rising  and  the  cold  becoming  more 
intense,  for  she  shivered  from  time  to  time,  and  her 
bare  little  toes  and  fingers  smarted  badly.  Once  or 
twice,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  she  dropped  down  on 
a  door-step,  but  when  she  saw  any  one  approaching 
she  spfang  up  and  hurried  along,  trying  to  be  brave 
and  patient.  Yes,  she  must  come  to  Good  Children 
Street  very  soon,  and  she  never  turned  a  corner 
that  she  did  not  expect  to  see  Madelon's  little  house, 
wedged  in  between  the  two  tall  ones,  and  the  light 
gleaming  from  Pepsie's  small  window. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LADY    JANE    FINDS   SHELTER 

AT  last,  when  she  began  to  feel  very  tired  and 
sleepy,  she  came  to  a  place  where  two  streets 
seemed  to  run  together  in  a  long  point,  and  before 
her  she  saw  a  large  building,  with  lights  in  all  the 
windows,  and  behind  it  a  tall  church  spire  seemed 
nearly  to  touch  the  stars  that  hung  above  it  so  soft 
and  bright.  Her  tearful  eyes  singled  out  two  of 
them  very  near  together  that  looked  as  though  they 
were  watching  her,  and  she  held  out  her  arms,  and 
murmured,  "  Papa,  mama,  can't  I  come  to  you? 
I  'm  so  cold  and  sleepy."  Poor  little  soul !  the  stars 
made  no  answer  to  her  piteous  appeal,  but  continued 
to  twinkle  as  serenely  as  they  have  done  since  time 
began,  and  will  do  until  it  ends.  Then  she  looked 
again  toward  the  brilliantly  lighted  windows  under 
the  shadow  of  the  church  spire.  She  could  not  get 
very  near,  for  in  front  of  the  house  was  an  iron 
railing,  but  she  noticed  a  marble  slab  let  into  the 

254 


LADY  JANE  255 

wall  over  the  porch,  on  which  was  an  inscription, 
and  above  it  a  row  of  letters  were  visible  in  the  light 
from  the  street  lamps.  Lady  Jane  spelled  them  out. 
"'Orphans'  Home.'  Or-phans!  I  wonder  what 
orphans  are?  Oh,  how  warm  and  light  it  is  in 
there !  "  Then  she  put  her  little  cold  toes  between 
the  iron  railings  on  the  stone  coping,  and  clinging 
with  her  two  hands  lifted  herself  a  little  higher,  and 
there  she  saw  an  enchanting  sight.  In  the  center 
of  the  room  was  a  tree,  a  real  tree,  growing  nearly 
to  the  ceiling,  with  moss  and  flowers  on  the  ground 
around  it,  and  never  did  the  spreading  branches  of 
any  other  tree  bear  such  glorious  fruit.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  light  and  color ;  and  moving,  swaying 
balls  of  silver  and  gold  danced  and  whirled  before 
her  dazzled  eyes.  At  first  she  could  hardly  dis- 
tinguish the  different  objects  in  the  confusion  of 
form  and  color;  but  at  last  she  saw  that  there  was 
everything  the  most  exacting  child  could  desire  — 
birds,  rabbits,  dogs,  kittens,  dolls;  globes  of  gold, 
silver,  scarlet,  and  blue;  tops,  pictures,  games,  bon- 
bons, sugared  fruits,  apples,  oranges,  and  little 
frosted  cakes,  in  such  bewildering  profusion  that 
they  were  like  the  patterns  in  a  kaleidoscope.  And 
there  was  a  merry  group  of  girls,  laughing  and  talk- 


256  LADY  JANE 

ing,  while  they  hung,  and  pinned,  and  fastened,  more 
and  more,  until  it  seemed  as  if  the  branches  would 
break  under  their  load. 

And  Lady  Jane,  clinging  to  the  railing,  with  stiff, 
cold  hands  and  aching  feet,  pressed  her  little,  white 
face  close  to  the  iron  bars,  and  looked  and  looked. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  opened,  and  a  woman 
came  out,  who,  when  she  saw  the  child  clinging  to 
the  railing,  bareheaded  and  scantily  clothed  in  spite 
of  the  piercing  cold,  went  to  her  and  spoke  kindly 
and  gently. 

Her  voice  brought  Lady  Jane  back  from  Paradise 
to  the  bitter  reality  of  her  position  and  the  dreary 
December  night.  For  a  moment  she  could  hardly 
move,  and  she  was  so  chilled  and  cramped  that  when 
she  unclasped  her  hold  she  almost  fell  into  the 
motherly  arms  extended  toward  her. 

"  My  child,  my  poor  child,  what  are  you  doing 
here  so  late,  in  the  cold,  and  with  these  thin  clothes  ? 
Why  don't  you  go  home?  " 

Then  the  poor  little  soul,  overcome  with  a  hor- 
rible fear,  began  to  shiver  and  cry.  "  Oh,  don't ! 
Oh,  please  don't  send  me  back  to  Tante  Pauline! 
I  'm  afraid  of  her ;  she  shook  me  and  struck  me  this 
morning,  and  I  've  run  away  from  her." 


LADY  JANE,  CLINGING  TO  THE  RAILING,  LOOKED  AND  LOOKED 


LADY  JANE  257 

"Where  does  your  Tante  Pauline  live?  "  asked  the 
woman,  studying  the"  tremulous  little  face  with  a 
pair  of  keen,  thoughtful  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know;  away  over  there  somewhere." 

"  Don't  you  know  the  name  of  the  street?  " 

"  It  is  n't  a  street ;  it 's  a  little  place  all  mud  and 
water,  with  boards  to  walk  on." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  your  aunt's  name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it 's  Tante  Pauline." 

"But  her  other  name?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  only  know  Tante  Pauline.  Oh 
please,  please  don't  send  me  there !  I  'm  afraid  to 
go  back,  because  she  said  I  must  sing  and  beg  money, 
and  I  could  n't  sing,  and  I  did  n't  like  to  ask  people 
for  nickels,"  and  the  child's  voice  broke  into  a  little 
wail  of  entreaty  that  touched  the  kind  heart  of  that 
noble,  tender,  loving  woman,  the  Margaret  whom 
some  to-day  call  Saint  Margaret.  She  had  heard 
just  such  pitiful  stories  before  from  hundreds  of 
hapless  little  orphans,  who  never  appealed  to  her  in 
vain. 

"  Where  are  your  father  and  mother  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  she  led  the  child  to  the  shelter  of  the  porch. 

Lady  Jane  made  the  same  pathetic  answer  as 
usual : 


258  LADY  JANE 

"  Papa  went  to  heaven,  and  Xante  Pauline  says 
that  mama's  gone  away,  and  I  think  she  's  gone 
where  papa  is." 

Margaret's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  while  the  child 
shivered  and  clung  closer  to  her.  "  Would  you  like 
to  stay  here  to-night,  my  dear?  "  she  asked,  as  she 
opened  the  door.  "  This  is  the  home  of  a  great 
many  little  homeless  girls,  and  the  good  Sisters  love 
and  care  for  them  all." 

Lady  Jane's  anxious  face  brightened  instantly. 
"  Oh,  can  I  —  can  I  stay  here  where  the  Christmas- 
tree  is?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,  and  to-morrow  there  will  be 
something  on  it  for  you." 

And  Margaret  opened  the  door  and  led  Lady 
Jane  into  that  safe  and  comfortable  haven  where  so 
many  hapless  little  ones  have  found  a  shelter. 

That  night,  after  the  child  had  been  fed  and 
warmed,  and  was  safely  in  bed  with  the  other  little 
orphans,  the  good  Margaret  sent  word  to  all  the 
police  stations  that  she  had  housed  a  little  wanderer 
who  if  called  for  could  be  found  safe  in  her  care. 

But  the  little  wanderer  was  not  claimed  the  next 
day,  nor  the  next  week.  Time  went  on,  and  Lady 
Jane  was  considered  a  permanent  inmate  of  the 


LADY  JANE  259 

home.  She  wore  the  plain  uniform  of  blue,  and  her 
long  golden  hair  was  plaited  in  a  thick  braid,  but 
still  she  was  lovely,  although  not  as  picturesque  as 
when  Pepsie  brushed  her  waving  locks.  She  was  so 
lovely  in  person  and  so  gentle  and  obedient  that  she 
soon  became  the  idol,  not  only  of  the  good  Margaret, 
but  of  all  the  Sisters,  and  even  of  the  children,  and 
her  singing  was  a  constant  pleasure,  for  every  day 
her  voice  became  stronger  and  richer,  and  her 
thrilling  little  strains  went  straight  to  the  hearts  of 
those  who  heard  them. 

"  She  must  be  taught  music/'  said  Margaret  to 
Sister  Agnes ;  "  such  a  voice  must  be  carefully  cul- 
tivated for  the  church."  Therefore  the  Sister  who 
took  her  in  charge  devoted  herself  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  child's  wonderful  talent,  and  in  a  few 
months  she  was  spoken  of  as  quite  a  musical  prodigy, 
and  all  the  wealthy  patronesses  of  the  home  singled 
her  out  as  one  that  was  rare  and  beautiful,  and 
showered  all  sorts  of  gifts  and  attentions  upon  her. 
Among  those  who  treated  her  with  marked  favor 
was  Mrs.  Lanier.  She  never  visited  the  home  with- 
out asking  for  little  Jane  (Margaret  had  thought  it 
best  to  drop  the  "  Lady,"  and  the  child,  with  an  in- 
tuition of  what  was  right,  complied  with  the  wish), 


260  LADY  JANE 

and  never  went  away  without  leaving  some  sub- 
stantial evidence  of  her  interest  in  the  child. 

"  I  believe  Mrs.  Lanier  would  like  to  adopt  little 
Jane,"  said  Margaret  one  day  to  Sister  Agnes,  when 
that  lady  had  just  left.  "If  she  hadn't  so  many 
children  of  her  own,  I  don't  think  she  would  leave 
her  long  with  us." 

"  It  is  surprising,  the  interest  she  takes  in  her," 
returned  Sister  Agnes.  "  When  the  child  sings  she 
just  sits  as  if  she  was  lost  to  everything,  and  listens 
with  all  her  soul." 

"  And  she  asks  the  strangest  questions  about  the 
little  thing,"  continued  Margaret  reflectively.  "  And 
she  is  always  suggesting  some  way  to  find  out  who 
the  child  belonged  to ;  but  although  I  've  tried  every 
way  I  can  think  of,  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn 
anything  satisfactory." 

It  was  true  Margaret  had  made  every  effoit  from 
the  very  first  to  discover  something  of  the  child's 
antecedents ;  but  she  had  been  unsuccessful,  owing  in 
a  measure  to  Lady  Jane's  reticence.  She  had  tried 
by  every  means  to  draw  some  remarks  from  her  that 
would  furnish  a  clue  to  work  upon ;  but  all  that  she 
could  ever  induce  the  child  to  say  was  to  repeat  the 
simple  statement  she  had  made  the  first  night,  when 


LADY  JANE  261 

the  good  woman  found  her,  cold  and  forlorn,  cling- 
ing to  the  iron  railing  in  front  of  the  Home. 

But  Lady  Jane's  reticence  was  not  from  choice. 
It  was  fear  that  kept  her  silent  about  her  life  in 
Good  Children  Street.  Often  she  would  be  about  to 
mention  Pepsie,  Mam'selle  Diane,  or  the  Paichoux, 
but  the  fear  of  Tante  Pauline  would  freeze  the  words 
on  her  lips.  And  she  was  so  happy  where  she  was 
that  even  her  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  Tony  was  be- 
ginning to  die  out.  She  loved  the  good  Sisters,  and 
her  grateful  little  heart  clung  to  Margaret  who  had 
saved  her  from  being  sent  back  to  Tante  Pauline 
and  the  dreadful  fate  of  a  little  street  beggar.  And 
the  warm-hearted  little  orphans  were  like  sisters  to 
her ;  they  were  merry  little  playmates,  and  she  was  a 
little  queen  among  them.  And  there  was  the  church, 
with  the  beautiful  altar,  the  pictures,  the  lights,  and 
the  music.  Oh,  how  heavenly  the  music  was,  and 
how  she  loved  to  sing  with  the  Sisters !  and  the  grand 
organ  notes  carried  her  little  soul  up  to  the  celestial 
gates  on  strains  of  sweet  melody.  Yes,  she  loved 
it  all  and  was  very  happy,  but  she  never  ceased  to 
think  of  Pepsie,  Madelon,  and  Gex,  and  when  she 
sang,  she  seemed  always  to  be  with  Mam'selle  Diane, 
nestled  close  to  her  side,  and,  mingled  with  the 


262  LADY  JANE 

strong,  rich  voices  of  the  Sisters,  she  fancied  she 
heard  the  sweet,  faded  strains  of  her  beloved  teacher 
and  friend. 

Sometimes  when  she  was  studying  her  lessons  she 
would  forget  for  a  moment  where  she  was,  and  her 
book  would  fall  in  her  lap,  and  again  she  would  be 
sitting  with  Pepsie,  shelling  pecans  or  watching  with 
breathless  interest  a  game  of  solitaire;  and  at  times 
when  she  was  playing  with  the  children  suddenly  she 
would  remember  the  ancient  "  professeur  of  the 
dance,"  and  she  would  hold  out  her  little  blue  skirt, 
and  trip  and  whirl  as  gracefully  in  her  coarse  shoes 
as  she  did  when  Gex  was  her  teacher. 

And  so  the  months  went  on  with  Lady  Jane,  while 
her  friends  in  Good  Children  Street  never  ceased  to 
talk  of  her  and  to  lament  over  their  loss.  Poor 
Mam'selle  Diane  was  in  great  trouble.  Madame 
d'Hautreve  was  very  ill,  and  there  was  little  hope  of 
her  recovery.  "  She  may  linger  through  the 
spring,"  the  doctor  said,  "  but  you  can  hardly  ex- 
pect to  keep  her  through  the  summer."  And  he  was 
right,  for  during  the  last  days  of  the  dry,  hot  month 
of  August,  the  poor  lady,  one  of  the  last  of  an  old 
aristocracy,  closed  her  dim  eyes  on  a  life  that  had 
been  full  of  strange  vicissitudes,  and  was  laid  away 


LADY  JANE-  263 

in  the  ancient  tomb  of  the  d'Hautreves,  not  far  from 
Lady  Jane's  young  mother.  And  Mam'selle  Diane, 
the  noble,  patient,  self-sacrificing  daughter,  was  left 
alone  in  the  little  house,  with  her  memories,  her  flow- 
ers, and  her  birds.  And  often,  during  those  first 
bitter  days  of  bereavement,  she  would  say  to  herself, 
"Oh,  if  I  had  that  sweet  child  now,  what  a  comfort 
she  would  be  to  me!  To  hear  her  heavenly  little 
voice  would  give  me  new  hope  and  courage." 

On  the  morning  of  Madame  d'Hautreve's  funeral, 
when  Paichoux  opened  his  paper  at  the  breakfast 
table,  he  uttered  such  a  loud  exclamation  of  surprise 
that  Tante  Modeste  almost  dropped  the  coffee-pot. 

"  What  is  it,  papa,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  cried. 

And  in  reply  Paichoux  read  aloud  the  notice  of 
the  death  of  Madame  la  veuve  d'Hautreve,  nee 
d'Orgenois ;  and  directly  underneath :  "  Died  at  the 
Charity  Hospital,  Madame  Pauline  Jozain,  nee 
Bergeron." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

TANTE   MODESTE   FINDS   LADY   JANE 

WHEN  Paichoux  read  of  the  death  of  Madame 
Jozain  in  the  Charity  Hospital,  he  said 
decidedly :  "  Modeste,  that  woman  never  left  the 
city.  She  never  went  to  Texas.  She  has  been  hid- 
den here  all  the  time,  and  I  must  find  that  child." 

"  And  if  you  find  her,  papa,  bring  her  right  here 
to  me,"  said  the  kind-hearted  woman.  "  We  have  a 
good  many  children,  it 's  true ;  but  there 's  always 
room  for  Lady  Jane,  and  I  love  the  little  thing  as 
well  as  if  she  were  mine." 

Paichoux  was  gone  nearly  all  day,  and,  much  to 
the  disappointment  of  the  whole  family,  did  not  find 
Lady  Jane. 

His  first  visit  had  been  to  the  Charity  Hospital, 
where  he  learned  that  Madame  Jozain  had  been 
brought  there  a  few  days  before  by  the  charity 
wagon.  It  had  been  called  to  a  miserable  lit- 
tle cabin  back  of  the  city,  where  they  had 

264 


LADY  JANE  265 

found  the  woman  very  ill,  with  no  one  to  care 
for  her,  and  destitute  of  every  necessity.  There 
was  no  child  with  her  —  she  was  quite  alone ;  and 
in  the  few  lucid  intervals  that  preceded  her  death 
she  had  never  spoken  of  any  child.  Paichoux  then 
obtained  the  directions  from  the  driver  of  the  charity 
wagon,  and  after  some  search  he  found  the  wretched 
neighborhood.  There  all  they  could  tell  him  was 
that  the  woman  had  come  a  few  weeks  before ;  that 
she  had  brought  very  little  with  her,  and  appeared  to 
be  suffering.  There  was  no  child  with  her  then, 
and  none  of  the  neighbors  had  ever  seen  one  visit 
her,  or,  for  that  matter,  a  grown  person  either. 
When  she  became  worse  they  were  afraid  she  might 
die  alone,  and  had  called  the  charity  wagon  to  take 
her  to  the  hospital.  The  Public  Administrator  had 
taken  charge  of  what  little  she  left,  and  that  was  all 
they  could  tell. 

Did  any  one  know  where  she  lived  before  she 
came  there?  No  one  knew;  an  old  negro  had 
brought  her  and  her  few  things,  and  they  had  not 
noticed  the  number  of  his  wagon.  The  landlord  of 
the  squalid  place  said  that  the  same  old  man  who 
brought  her  had  engaged  her  room ;  he  did  not  know 
the  negro.  Madame  had  paid  a  month's  rent  in  ad- 


266  LADY  JANE 

vance,  and  just  when  the  month  was  up  she  had  been 
carried  to  the  hospital. 

There  the  information  stopped,  and,  in  spite  of 
every  effort,  Paichoux  could  learn  no  more.  The 
wretched  woman  had  indeed  obliterated,  as  it  were, 
every  trace  of  the  child.  In  her  fear  of  detection, 
after  Lady  Jane's  escape  from  her,  she  had  moved 
from  place  to  place,  hunted  and  pursued  by  a  guilty 
conscience  that  would  never  allow  her  to  rest,  and 
gradually  going  from  bad  to  worse  until  she  had 
died  in  that  last  refuge  for  the  miserable,  the  Charity 
Hospital. 

"  And  here  I  am,  just  where  I  started !  "  said 
Paichoux  dejectedly,  after  he  had  told  Tante 
Modeste  of  his  day's  adventure.  "  However,"  said 
he,  "  I  sha'n't  give  it  up.  I  'm  bound  to  find  out 
what  she  did  with  that  child ;  the  more  I  think  of  it, 
the  more  I  'm  convinced  that  she  never  went  to 
Texas,  and  that  the  child  is  still  here.  Now  I  've  a 
mind  to  visit  every  orphan  asylum  in  the  city,  and 
see  if  I  can't  find  her  in  one  of  them." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,"  said  Tante  Modeste. 
"  We  '11  see  for  ourselves,  and  then  we  shall  be 
satisfied.  Unless  she  gave  Lady  Jane  away,  she  's 
likely  to  be  in  some  such  place;  and  I  think,  as  I 


LADY  JANE  267 

always  have,  Paichoux,  that  she  stole  Lady  Jane 
from  some  rich  family,  and  that  was  why  she  ran 
off  so  sudden  and  hid.  That  lady's  coming  the  day 
after  proves  that  some  one  was  on  madame's  track. 
Oh,  I  tell  you  there  's  a  history  there,  if  we  can  only 
get  at  it.  We  '11  start  out  to-morrow  and  see  what 
can  be  done.  I  sha'n't  rest  until  the  child  is  found 
and  restored  to  her  own  peopled' 

One  morning,  while  Lady  Jane  was  in  the  school- 
room busy  with  her  lessons,  Margaret  entered  with 
some  visitors.  It  was  a  very  common  thing  for 
people  to  come  during  study  hours,  and  the  child 
did  not  look  up  until  she  heard  some  one  say: 
"  These  are  the  children  of  that  age.  See  if  you 
recognize  '  Lady  Jane  '  among  them." 

It  was  her  old  name  that  startled  her,  and  made 
her  turn  suddenly  toward  the  man  and  woman,  who 
were  looking  eagerly  about  the  room.  In  an  instant 
the  bright-faced  woman  cried,  "  Yes !  yes !  Oh, 
there  she  is !  "  and  simultaneously  Lady  Jane  ex- 
claimed, "  Tante  Modeste,  oh,  Tante  Modeste!" 
and,  quicker  than  I  can  tell  it,  she  was  clasped 
to  the  loving  heart  of  her  old  friend,  while 
Paichoux  looked  on,  twirling  his  hat  and  smiling 
broadly. 


268  LADY  JANE 

"  Jane,  you  can  come  with  us,"  said  Margaret,  as 
she  led  the  way  to  the  parlor. 

There  was  a  long  and  interesting  conversation,  to 
which  the  child  listened  with  grave  wonder,  while 
she  nestled  close  to  Tante  Modeste.  She  did  not 
understand  all  they  said;  there  was  a  great  deal 
about  Madame  Jozain  and  Good  Children  Street,  and 
a  gold  watch  with  diamond  initials,  and  beautiful 
linen  with  initial  letters,  J.  C,  embroidered  on  it, 
and  madame's  sudden  flight,  and  the  visit  of  the  ele- 
gant lady  in  the  fine  carriage,  the  Texas  story,  and 
madame's  wretched  hiding-place  and  miserable  death 
in  the  Charity  Hospital;  to  all  of  which  Margaret 
listened  with  surprise  and  interest.  Then  she  in  turn- 
told  the  Paichoux  how  Lady  Jane  had  been  found 
looking  in  the  window  on  Christmas  Eve,  while  she 
clung  to  the  railings,  half -clad  and  suffering  with  the 
cold,  and  how  she  had  questioned  her  and  endeav- 
ored to  get  some»clue  to  .her  identity. 

"Why  didn't  you  .tell  Mother  Margaret  about 
your  friends  in  Good  Children  Street,  my  dear?" 
asked  Tante  Modeste,  with  one  of  her  bright 
smiles. 

Lady  Jane  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  replied 
timidly,  "  Because  I  was  afraid." 


LADY  JANE.  269 

"What  were  you  afraid  of,  my  child?"  asked 
Paichoux  kindly. 

"  Xante  Pauline  told  me  that  I  must  n't."  Then 
she  stopped  and  looked  wistfully  at  Margaret. 
"  Must  I  tell  now,  Mother  Margaret  ?  Will  it  be 
right  to  tell?  Tante  Pauline  told  me  not  to." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  can  tell  everything  now. 
It 's  right.  You  must  tell  us  all  you  remember." 

"  Tante  Pauline  told  me  that  I  must  never,  never 
speak  of  Good  Children  Street  nor  of  any  one  that 
lived  there,  and  that  I  must  never  tell  any  one  my 
name,  nor  where  I  lived." 

"  Poor  child ! "  said  Margaret  to  Paichoux. 
"  There  must  have  been  some  serious  reason  for  so 
much  secrecy.  Yes,  I  agree  with  you  that  there  's 
a  mystery  which  we  must  try  to  clear  up,  but  I  would 
rather  wait  a  little  while.  Jane  has  a  friend  who  is 
very  rich  and  very  influential  —  Mrs.  Lanier,  the 
banker's  wife.  She  is  absent  in  Washington,  and 
when  she  returns  I  '11  consult  with  her,  and  we  '11  see 
what 's  best  to  be  done.  I  should  n't  like  to  take 
any  important  step  until  then.  But  in  the  mean- 
time, Mr.  Paichoux,  it  will  do  no  harm  to  put  your 
plan  in  operation.  I  think  the  idea  is  good,  and  in 
this  way  we  can  work  together." 


270  LADY  JANE 

Then  Paichoux  promised  to  begin  his  investiga- 
tions at  once,  for  he  was  certain  that  they  would 
bring  about  some  good  results,  and  that,  before  many 
months  had  passed,  Mother  Margaret  would  have 
one  orphan  less  to  care  for. 

While  Margaret  and  Paichoux  were  discussing 
these  important  matters,  Tante  Modeste  and  Lady 
Jane  were  talking  as  fast  as  their  tongues  could  fly. 
The  child  heard  for  the  first  time  about  poor  Mam'- 
selle  Diane's  loss,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  of 
sympathy  for  her  gentle  friend.  And  then,  there 
were  Pepsie  and  Madelon,  Gex  and  Tite  —  did  they 
remember  her  and  want  to  see  her?  Oh,  how  glad 
she  was  to  hear  from  them  all  again;  and  Tante 
Modeste  cried  a  little  when  Lady  Jane  told  of  that 
terrible  midnight  ride,  of  the  wretched  home  she  had 
been  carried  to,  of  her  singing  and  begging  in  the 
streets,  of  her  cold  and  hunger,  and  of  the  blow  she 
had  received  as  the  crowning  cruelty. 

"  But  the  worst  of  all  was  losing  Tony.  Oh, 
Tante  Modeste !  "  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes, 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  never,  never  find  him !  " 

"  Yes,  you  will,  my  dear.  I  've  faith  to  believe 
you  will,"  replied  Tante  Modeste  hopefully. 


LADY  JANE,  271 

"  We  've  found  you,  ma  petite,  and  now  we  '11  find 
the  bird.  Don't  fret  about  it." 

Then  after  Margaret  had  promised  to  take  Lady 
Jane  to  Good  Children  Street  the  next  day,  the  good 
couple  went  away  well  pleased  with  what  they  had 
accomplished. 

Tante  Modeste  could  not  return  home  until  she 
had  told  Pepsie  as  well  as  little  Gex  the  good  news. 
And  Mam'selle  Diane's  sad  heart  was  greatly  cheered 
to  know  that  the  dear  child  was  safe  in  the  care  of 
the  good  Margaret.  And  oh,  what  bright  hopes  and 
plans  filled  the  lonely  hours  of  that  evening,  as  she 
sat  dreaming  on  her  little  gallery  in  the  pale,  cold 
moonlight ! 

The  next  day  Pepsie  cried  and  laughed  together 
when  Lady  Jane  sprang  into  her  arms  and  embraced 
her  with  her  old  fervor.  "  You  're  just  the  same," 
she  said,  holding  the  child  off  and  looking  at  her 
fondly ;  "  that  is,  your  face  has  n't  changed ;  but  I 
don't  like  your  hair  braided,  and  I  don't  like  your 
clothes.  I  must  get  Mother  Margaret  to  let  me 
dress  you  as  I  used  to." 

And  Mam'selle  Diane  had  something  of  the  same 
feeling  when,  after  the  first  long  embrace,  she  looked 


272  LADY  JANE 

at  the  child  and  asked  Mother  Margaret  if  it  was 
necessary  for  her  to  wear  the  uniform  of  the  Home. 

"  She  must  wear  it  while  she  is  an  inmate,"  replied 
Margaret  smiling.  "  But  that  will  not  be  long,  I 
suspect.  We  shall  lose  her  —  yes,  I  'm  afraid  we 
shall  lose  her  soon." 

Then  Mam'selle  Diane  talked  a  long  while  with 
Margaret  about  her  hopes  and  plans  for  Lady  Jane. 
"  I  am  all  alone,"  she  said  pathetically,  "  and  she 
would  give  me  a  new  interest  in  life.  If  her  rela- 
tives are  not  discovered,  why  cannot  I  have  her?  I 
will  educate  her,  and  teach  her  music,  and  devote  my 
life  to  her." 

Margaret  promised  to  think  it  over,  and  in  the 
mean  time  she  consented  that  Lady  Jane  should  re- 
main a  few  days  with  Mam'selle  Diane  and  her 
friends  in  Good  Children  Street. 

That  night,  while  the  child  was  nestled  close  to 
Mam'selle  Diane  as  they  sat  together  on  the  little 
moonlit  gallery,  she  suddenly  asked  with  startling 
earnestness : 

"  Has  your  mama  gone  to  heaven,  too,  Mam'selle 
Diane?" 

"I  hope  so,  my  darling;  I  think  so,"  replied 
Diane  in  a  choked  voice. 


LADY  JANE.  273 

"  Well,  then,  if  she  has,  she  '11  see  my  papa  and 
mama,  and  tell  them  about  me,  and  oh,  Mam'selle, 
won't  they  be  glad  to  hear  from  me?  " 

"  I  hope  she  will  tell  them  how  dearly  I  love  you, 
and  what  you  are  to  me,"  murmured  Mam'selle, 
pressing  her  cheeks  to  the  bright  little  head  resting 
against  her  shoulder. 

".Look  up  there,  Mam'selle  Diane,  do  you  see 
those  two  beautiful  stars  so  near  together?  I  al- 
ways think  they  are  mama  and  papa,  watching  me. 
Now  I  know  mama  is  there,  too,  and  will  never  come 
back  again ;  and  see,  near  those  there  is  another  very 
soft  and  bright,  perhaps  that  is  your  mama  shining 
there  with  them." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  my  dear  —  yes,  perhaps  it  is,"  and 
Mam'selle  Diane  raised  her  faded  eyes  toward  the 
sky,  with  new  hope  and  strength  in  their  calm 
depths. 

About  that  time  Paichoux  began  a  most  laborious 
correspondence  with  a  fashionable  jeweler  in  New 
York,  which  resulted  in  some  very  valuable  informa- 
tion concerning  a  watch  with  a  diamond  monogram. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
AT  MRS.  LANIER'S 

IT  was  a  few  days  before  the  following  Christ- 
mas, and  Mrs.  Lanier,  who  had  just  returned 
from  Washington,  was  sitting  alone  one  evening  in 
her  own  pretty  little  parlor,  when  a  servant  handed 
her  a  card. 

"  Arthur  Maynard,"  she  read.  "  Let  him  come 
up  at  once";  and  as  the  servant  left  the  room  she 
added  to  herself:  "  Dear  boy!  I  'm  so  glad  he  's 
come  for  Christmas." 

In  a  moment  a  handsome  young  fellow  was  in  the 
room,  shaking  hands  in  the  most  cordial  way. 

"  You  see  I  'm  home,  as  usual,  for  the  holidays, 
Mrs.  Lanier,"  he  said,  showing  a  row  of  very  white 
teeth  when  he  laughed. 

"  Yes,  you  always  do  come  for  Christmas  and 
Mardi-gras,  don't  you  ?  You  're  such  a  boy  still, 
Arthur,"  and  Mrs.  Lanier  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
approved  of  his  boyishness.  "  Sit  down  and  let  us 

274 


LADY  JANE  275 

have  a  long  chat.  The  children  have  gone  to  the 
theater  with  Mr.  Lanier.  I  was  too  tired  to  go 
with  them.  You  know  we  reached  home  only  this 
morning." 

"  No.  I  did  n't  know  that  or  I  would  n't  have 
come.  You  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  me  when 
you  're  so  tired,"  said  Arthur,  rising. 

"  Nonsense,  Arthur ;  sit  down.  You  always  cheer 
me  up.  You  're  so  full  of  life  and  spirits,  I  'm 
really  glad  to  see  you." 

While  Mrs.  Lanier  was  speaking,  the  young  fel- 
low's bright,  clear  eyes  were  traveling  about  the 
room,  and  glancing  at  everything,  pictures,  bric-a- 
brac,  and  flowers.  Suddenly  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion, and,  springing  up,  seized  a  photograph  in  a 
velvet  frame  that  stood  on  a  cabinet  near  him. 

It  represented  a  family  group,  father,  mother,  and 
child ;  and  for  a  moment  he  seemed  too  surprised  to 
speak.  Then  he  asked,  in  a  very  excited  tone, 
"  Mrs.  Lanier,  where  did  you  get  this  —  and  who  is 
the  lady?" 

"  She  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mrs.  Lanier,  much 
surprised.  "  Why  do  you  ask  —  have  you  ever  seen 
her?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  I  have  a  copy  of  this  picture.     It 


276  LADY  JANE 

is  such  a  strange  story;  but  first,  before  I  say  a 
word,  please  tell  me  who  she  is,  and  all  about  her." 

"  Why,  Arthur,  you  seem  greatly  interested,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Lanier,  with  a  smile.  "  The  lady  is  my 
dear  friend,  Jane  Chetwynd.  We  were  classmates 
at  boarding-school  in  New  York;  her  father  is  the 
rich  Mr.  Chetwynd.  You  have  heard  of  him, 
have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  but  please  go  on." 

"  Do  you  want  all  the  history  ?  " 

"  Everything,  please.  I  've  a  serious  reason  for 
wanting  to  know  all  about  the  originals  of  this  photo- 
graph." 

"  Well,  the  gentleman  is  Jane's  husband,  Mr. 
Churchill,  an  Englishman,  and  the  little  girl  is  '  Lady 
Jane,'  their  only  child.  There 's  quite  a  romance 
connected  with  Jane's  history,  and  I  'm  just  now 
floundering  in  a  sea  of  darkness  in  regard  to  that 
same  Jane  Chetwyn." 

"  If  you  please,  go  on,  and  perhaps  I  can  help  you 
out,"  urged  the  young  man,  eagerly  and  abruptly. 

"  Well,  as  it 's  a  subject  I  'm  greatly  interested  in, 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  the  whole  story.  Jane 
Chetwynd  was  the  only  daughter;  her  mother  died 
when  she  was  a  child.  Jane  was  her  father's  idol; 


LADY  JANE  277 

he  had  great  plans  for  her,  and  when  she  was  only 
eighteen  he  hoped  she  would  marry  one  of  the  rich 
Bindervilles.  Jane,  however,  married  a  young  Eng- 
lishman who  was  in  her  father's  employ.  The 
young  man  was  handsome,  as  you  can  see  by  his 
picture,  well  born,  and  well  educated;  but  he  was 
unknown  and  poor.  To  Richard  Chetwynd  that  was 
unpardonable,  and  therefore  he  disowned  Jane  — 
cut  her  off  entirely,  refused  to  see  her,  or  even  to 
allow  her  name  to  be  mentioned. 

"  A  cousin  of  Mr.  Churchill,  who  lived  in  Eng- 
land, owned  a  fine  ranch  in  Texas,  and  there  the 
young  couple  went  to  pass  their  honeymoon.  They 
were  delighted  with  the  ranch,  and  decided  to  make 
it  a  permanent  home. 

"  Their  little  girl  was  born  there,  and  was  named 
for  her  mother.  On  account  of  some  dainty  little 
ways,  and  to  avoid  confusion,  her  father  called 
her  Lady  Jane. 

"  In  her  frequent  letters  to  me,  my  friend  spoke 
of  her  as  a  remarkable  child,  and  of  course  she  was 
the  idol  of  her  parents.  In  spite  of  the  trouble 
with  her  father,  Jane  never  regretted  her  choice,  and 
even  her  isolated  life  had  many  charms  for  her. 
She  was  of  a  quiet,  domestic  disposition,  and  loved 


278  LADY  JANE 

the  country.  Indeed,  I  know  her  life  there  was  one 
of  idyllic  happiness.  When  the  child  was  three 
years  old  Jane  sent  me  that  picture ;  then  about  two 
more  years  passed,  during  which  time  I  heard  from 
her  frequently,  and  after  that  suddenly  the  cor- 
respondence stopped.  I  was  in  Europe  for  a  year, 
and  when  I  returned  I  set  to  work  to  find  out  the 
cause.  Many  letters  were  returned  from  San  An- 
tonio, the  nearest  post-office;  but  finally  we  suc- 
ceeded in  communicating  with  the  overseer  on  the 
ranch,  who  informed  us  that  Mr.  Churchill  had  died 
suddenly  of  a  prevalent  fever,  the  summer  before, — 
more  than  two  years  ago  now, —  and  that  Mrs. 
Churchill  with  her  little  girl  had  left  the  ranch  di- 
rectly after  her  husband's  death  to  return  to  New 
York,  since  which  time  he  had  received  no  news  of 
her;  and  the  overseer  also  expressed  surprise  in  his 
letter  at  her  long  silence,  as  he  said  she  had  left  many 
valuable  things  that  were  to  be  sent  to  her  when  and 
where  she  should  direct,  after  she  reached  New 
York ;  he  had  since  received  no  instructions,  and  the 
property  was  still  lying  there. 

"  Then  I  wrote  directly  to  New  York  to  a  friend 
who  was  very  intimate  at  one  time  with  the  Chet- 
wynds,  for  some  information  about  Jane;  but  she 


LADY  JANE  279 

could  tell  me  nothing  more  than  the  newspapers  told 
me,  that  Richard  Chetwynd  had  gone  abroad,  to  re- 
main some  years.  Of  Jane  I  could  not  hear  a  word. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  she  may  have  followed  her 
father  to  Europe,  and  that  they  are  reconciled  and 
living  there  together.  But  why  does  she  not  write  to 
me  —  to  the  friend  whom  she  always  loved  so 
dearly  ? 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing  that  has  worried  me 
no  little,  although  in  itself  it  is  a  trifle.  When  we 
were  at  school  together  I  had  a  little  birthday  gift 
made  at  Tiffany's  for  Jane,  a  silver  jewel-box,  en- 
graved with  pansies  and  forget-me-nots,  and  a  lot 
of  school-girl  nonsense.  I  made  the  design  myself, 
and  the  design  for  the  monogram  also.  About  a 
year  ago  I  found  that  very  box  for  sale  at  Madame 
Hortense's,  on  Canal  Street.  When  I  asked  Hor- 
tense  where  she  got  it,  she  told  me  that  it  was  left 
with  her  to  spll  by  a  woman  who  lived  down  town 
on  Good  Children  Street,  and  she  gave  me  the  name 
and  address;  but  when  I  went  there  a  day  or  two 
afterwards  the  woman  had  gone, —  left  mysteriously 
in  the  night,  and  none  of  the  neighbors  could  tell  me 
where  she  went.  Of  course  the  woman's  sudden 
disappearance  made  me  feel  that  there  was  some- 


28o  LADY  JANE 

thing  wrong  about  her,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  that 
she  got  the  little  box  dishonestly.  It  may  have  been 
stolen,  either  in  Texas  or  in  New  York,  and  finally 
drifted  here  for  sale.  I  got  possession  of  it  at  once, 
very  thankful  that  such  a  precious  relic  of  my  girl- 
hood should  have  accidentally  fallen  into  my  hands; 
but  every  time  I  look  at  it  I  feel  that  it  is  a  key 
which  might  unlock  a  mystery  if  only  I  knew  how 
to  use  it." 

All  the  while  Mrs.  Lanier  was  speaking,  Arthur 
Maynard  followed  every  word  with  bright,  question- 
ing eyes  and  eager,  intense  interest.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  about  to  interrupt  her;  then  he  closed  his 
lips  firmly  and  continued  to  listen. 

Mrs.  Lanier  was  looking  at  him  inquiringly,  and 
when  he  waited  as  if  to  hear  more  she  said :  "  I 
have  told  you  all.  Now  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Something  quite  as  strange  as  anything  you  have 
told  me,"  replied  Arthur  Maynard,  with  an  enig- 
matical air.  "  You  must  not  think  you  're  the  only 
one  with  a  mystery  worthy  the  skill  of  a  Parisian 
detective.  If  I  had  any  such  talent  I  might  make 
myself  famous,  with  your  clues  and  my  clues  to- 
gether." 

"  What    in    the   world    do   you   mean,    Arthur  ? 


LADY  JANE  281 

What  do  you  know  ?  —  for  pity's  sake,  tell  me ! 
You  can't  think  how  Jane  Chetwynd's  long  silence 
distresses  me." 

"  Fool  that  I  was !  "  cried  the  young  fellow,  jump- 
ing up  and  pacing  the  room  with  a  half -tragic  air. 
"  If  I  had  n't  been  an  idiot  —  a  simpleton  —  a  gos- 
ling—  if  I'd  had  a  spark  of  sense,  I  could  have 
brought  that  same  Jane  Chetwynd,  and  the  adorable 
little  Lady  Jane,  straight  to  your  door.  Instead  of 
that,  I  let  them  get  off  the  train  at  Gretna  alone  when 
it  was  nearly  dark,  and  —  Heaven  only  knows  what 
has  happened  to  them !  " 

"Arthur  Maynard,  what  do  you  mean?"  asked 
Mrs.  Lanier,  rising  to  her  feet,  pale  and  trembling. 
"  When  —  where  —  where  is  she  now  —  where  is 
Jane  Chetwynd?  " 

"  I  wish  I  knew.  I  'm  as  wretched  and  anxious 
as  you  are,  Mrs.  Lanier,  and  what  has  happened  to- 
day has  quite  upset  me ;  but  I  must  tell  you  my  story, 
as  you  have  told  yours." 

And  then,  while  Mrs.  Lanier  listened  with  clasped 
hands  and  intent  gaze,  Arthur  Maynard  told  of  the 
meeting  with  Lady  Jane  and  her  mother  on  the  train, 
of  the  gift  of  "  Tony,"  the  blue  heron,  and  of  the 
separation  at  Gretna. 


282  LADY  JANE 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  why  —  why  did  n't  you  go  with 
them  and  bring  them  to  me?  She  was  a  stranger, 
and  she  did  n't  know  the  way,  and  your  being  our 
friend  and  all." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Lanier,  she  never  mentioned  your 
name  or  number.  How  could  I  guess  you  were  the 
friend  to  whom  she  was  going?  and  I  didn't  want 
to  seem  presuming." 

"  But  where  did  she  go  ?     She  never  came  here !  " 

"  Wait  till  I  tell  you  the  rest,  and  then  we  will 
discuss  that.  I  stood  on  the  platform  until  the  train 
started,  and  watched  them  walking  toward  the  ferry, 
the  mother  very  feebly,  and  the  child  skipping  along 
with  the  little  basket,  delighted  with  her  new  pos- 
session ;  then  I  went  back  to  my  seat,  angry  enough 
at  myself  because  I  was  n't  with  them,  when  what 
should  I  see  on  the  floor,  under  their  seat,  but  a 
book  they  had  left.  I  have  it  now,  and  I  '11  bring  it 
to  you  to-morrow;  inside  of  the  book  was  a  photo- 
graph—  a  duplicate  of  this,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  was 
written  '  Jane  Chetwynd.'  " 

"  I  thought  so!  I  knew  it  was  Jane!  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Lanier  excitedly.  "  But  she  never  came  here. 
Where  could  she  have  gone  ?  " 


LADY  JANE  283 

"  That 's  the  mystery.  She  may  have  changed 
her  mind  and  gone  to  a  hotel,  or  something  may  have 
happened  to  her.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  it !  However,  the  next  day  I  advertised  the 
book,  and  advertised  it  for  a  week ;  but  it  was  never 
claimed,  and  from  that  day  to  this  I  Ve  never  been 
able  to  discover  either  the  mother  or  the  child." 

"  How  strange,  how  very  strange !  "  said  Mrs. 
Lanier,  greatly  troubled.  "  Why  should  she  have 
changed  her  mind  so  suddenly?  If  she  started  to 
come  to  me,  why  did  n't  she  come  ?  " 

"  The  only  reasonable  solution  to  the  problem  is 
that  she  changed  her  mind  and  went  on  to  New  York 
by  the  night-train.  She  evidently  did  not  go  to  a 
hotel,  for  I  have  looked  over  all  the  hotel  registers 
of  that  time,  and  her  name  does  not  appear  on  any 
of  them.  So  far  there  is  nothing  very  mysterious; 
she  might  have  taken  the  night-train." 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  she  probably  did.  Why  do  you  say 
she  might  have  ?  " 

"  Because  you  see  I  have  a  sequel  to  my  story. 
You  had  a  sequel  to  yours,  a  sequel  of  a  box.  Mine 
is  a  sequel  of  a  bird  —  the  blue  heron  I  gave  the  little 
Lady  Jane.  /  bought  that  same  blue  heron  from  a 


284  LADY  JANE 

bird-fancier  on  Charter  Street  this  very  morning" 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  that  it  is  the  same  bird, 
Arthur  ?  How  can  you  be  sure  ?  " 

"  Because  it  was  marked  in  a  peculiar  way.  It 
had  three  distinct  black  crosses  on  one  wing.  I 
knew  the  rogue  as  soon  as  I  saw  him,  although  he 
has  grown  twice  the  size,  and  —  would  you  believe 
it  ?  —  he  has  the  same  leather  band  on  his  leg  that 
I  sewed  on  more  than  two  years  ago." 

"  And  you  found  out  where  the  fancier  bought 
him  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lanier  breathlessly. 

"  Of  course  I  asked,  the  first  thing,  and  all  the 
information  I  could  get  from  the  merchant  was  that 
he  bought  him  from  an  Italian  a  few  days  before, 
who  was  very  anxious  to  sell  him.  When  I  called 
the  bird  by  his  name,  Tony,  he  recognized  it  in- 
stantly. So  you  see  that  he  has  always  been  called 
by  that  name." 

"  The  child  must  have  lost  him,  or  he  must  have 
been  stolen.  Then  the  box,  the  jewel-box  here  too. 
Good  heavens!  Arthur,  what  can  it  mean?'" 

"  It  means  that  Mrs.  Churchill  never  left  New  Or- 
leans," said  Arthur  decidedly. 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  you  alarm  me ! "  cried  Mrs. 
Lanier;  "there  is  something  dreadful  behind  all 


LADY  JANE  285 

this.     Go  on,  and  tell  me  everything  you  know." 

"  Well,  after  I  bought  the  bird,  and  while  I  was 
writing  my  address  for  the  man  to  send  him  home, 
a  funny  little  old  Frenchman  came  in,  and  suddenly 
pounced  on  Tony,  and  began  to  jabber  in  the  most 
absurd  way.  I  thought  he  was  crazy  at  first;  but 
after  a  while  I  made  him  understand  that  the  heron 
belonged  to  me;  and  when  I  had  calmed  him  down 
somewhat  I  gathered  from  his  remarks  that  this 
identical  blue  heron  had  been  the  property  of  '  one 
leetle  lady,'  who  formerly  lived  on  Good  Children 
Street." 

"  Good  Children  Street,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Lanier; 
"  what  a  remarkable  coincidence !  " 

"  That  the  bird  had  been  lost,  and  that  he  had 
searched  everywhere  to  find  it  for  the  '  leetle  lady.' 
Then  I  asked  him  for  a  description  of  the  '  leetle 
lady.'  And,  as  I  live,  Mrs.  Lanier,  he  described 
that  child  to  the  life," — and  Arthur  Maynard 
pointed  to  the  photograph  as  he  spoke. 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  can  it  be  that  Jane  Chetwynd  is 
dead?  What  else  can  it  mean?  Where  is  the 
child?  I  must  see  her.  Will  you  go  with  me  to 
Good  Children  Street  early  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Lanier.     But  she  is  not  there ; 


286  LADY  JANE 

the  old  man  told  me  a  long  story  of  a  Madame 
Jozain,  who  ran  away  with  the  child." 

"  Madame  Jozain !  "  cried  Mrs.  Lanier  excitedly 
— "  the  same  woman  who  had  the  jewel-box." 

"  Evidently  the  same,  and  we  are  on  her  track  — 
or  we  should  be,  if  she  were  alive;  but  unfortunately 
she  's  dead.  The  little  Frenchman  says  so,  and  the 
child  is  now  in  Margaret's  Orphans'  Home." 

"  Oh,  I  see  it  all  now !  It  is  as  clear  as  day  to 
me !  "  cried  Mrs.  Lanier,  springing  from  her  chair 
and  walking  excitedly  back  and  forth.  "  It  is  all  ex- 
plained—  the  mysterious  attraction  I  felt  for  that 
child  from  the  first.  Her  eyes,  her  voice,  her  smile 
are  Jane  Chetwynd's.  Arthur,  would  you  know  her 
again  if  you  saw  her?  " 

"  Certainly ;  she  has  n't  grown  out  of  my  recollec- 
tion in  two  years,  though  of  course  she  may  not  re- 
semble the  photograph  so  much.  You  see  it  is  four 
or  five  years  since  that  was  taken ;  but  she  can't  have 
changed  in  two  years  so  that  I  won't  know  her,  and 
I  'm  very  sure  also  that  she  '11  remember  me." 

"Well,  come  to-morrow  at  eleven,  and  I  think  I 
can  have  her  here.  The  lovely  child  in  Margaret's 
Home,  in  whom  I  have  felt  such  an  interest,  must  be 
the  one.  Her  name  is  Jane.  I  will  write  to  Mar- 


LADY  JANE  287 

garet  at  once  to  bring  her  here  to-morrow  morning, 
and,  Arthur,  if  you  can  identify  her  she  is  Jane  Chet- 
wynd's  child  without  a  doubt ;  —  but  Jane  —  poor 
Jane !  What  has  happened  to  her  ?  It  is  a  mystery, 
and  I  shall  never  rest  until  it  is  explained." 

"  And  perhaps  you  will  hate  me  for  my  stupidity," 
replied  Arthur,  looking  very  much  cast  down,  as  he 
shook  hands  and  said  good-night. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  boy.  You  were  not  in  the  least 
to  blame,  and  perhaps  your  generosity  in  giving 
Lady  Jane  the  blue  heron  may  be  the  means  of  re- 
storing her  to  her  friends." 

Thinking  the  matter  over  from  Mrs.  Lanier's 
point  of  view,  Arthur  went  away  somewhat  com- 
forted, but  still  very  anxious  about  the  developments 
the  next  day  might  bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


THE  next  morning,  when  Margaret  brought  lit- 
tle Jane,  Mrs.  Lanier  sent  for  them  to  come  to 
her  room,  and  there  she  heard  the  strange  story  that 
Paichoux  had  told  Margaret. 

Putting  together  one  thing  and  another,  the  inci- 
dents seemed  to  form  a  chain  of  which  there  was 
only  one  link  missing,  and  that  was  an  explanation 
of  the  mystery  surrounding  the  fate  of  the  young 
mother.  What  had  become  of  her  ?  And  how  had 
Madame  Jozain  got  possession  of  the  child,  as  well 
as  of  the  property? 

"  It  is  work  for  a  skilful  detective,"  said  Mrs. 
Lanier,  when  Margaret  had  told  her  of  Paichoux's 
plan. 

And  Margaret  replied  that,  with  the  aid  of  a  lit- 
tle money,  the  snarl  could  soon  be  unraveled. 

"  The  money  will  be  forthcoming,"  returned  Mrs. 
Lanier.  "  It  shall  be  my  sacred  duty  to  begin  an 
investigation  as  soon  as  the  child's  identity  is  estab- 

288 


LADY  JANE  289 

lished.  Mr.  Lanier  will  interest  himself  with  me, 
and  every  possible  effort  shall  be  made  to  get  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mystery.  Meanwhile,  my  good  Mar- 
garet, you  must  leave  little  Jane  with  me.  Jane 
Chetwynd's  child  must  not  be  dependent  on  charity." 

To  this  Margaret  readily  agreed,  and  then  Lady 
Jane  was  called  from  the  nursery,  where  she  had 
been  with  Mrs.  Lanier's  little  girls  during  this  long 
serious  conversation. 

The  child  came  in  dressed  in  her  homely  orphan's 
garb,  with  all  her  beautiful  hair  braided  and  hanging 
stiffly  down  her  back;  but  she  was  lovely  in  spite  of 
her  unlovely  attire,  her  sweet  little  face  was  dimpled 
with  smiles,  and  her  wide  eyes  were  full  of  pleasant 
expectation. 

"  Come  here,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lanier,  holding 
out  her  hands.  "  Now  tell  me,  which  name  do  you 
like  best,  Lady  Jane,  or  simply  Jane?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  looked  wistfully  at 
Margaret,  while  a  slight  shadow  passed  over  her 
face.  "  /  like  Lady  Jane ;  but  Mother  Margaret 
likes  Jane  best." 

Then  Mrs.  Lanier  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out 
a  photograph  in  a  velvet  frame.  "  My  dear,"  she 
said,  holding  it  before  her,  "  who  are  these?  " 


290  LADY  JANE 

In  an  instant  the  child's  face  changed ;  every  ves- 
tige of  color  fled  from  it,  as  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
picture  with  a  look  of  eager  affection  and  pitiful  sur- 
prise. "  It  *s  papa  and  mama !  "  she  exclaimed  pas- 
sionately. "  It 's  my  dear,  dear  mama !  "  Then, 
with  a  cry  of  distress,  she  threw  herself  into  Mar- 
garet's arms  and  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  This  is  proof  enough  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Lanier, 
as  she  laid  the  picture  away ;  "  the  recognition  was 
instantaneous  and  complete.  She  is  Jane  Chet- 
wynd's  child.  Margaret,  leave  her  to  me ;  I  will  love 
her  and  comfort  her." 

An  hour  after  Mrs.  Lanier  was  sitting  in  her 
library,  writing  hastily  and  excitedly,  when  the  door- 
bell rang,  and,  just  as  she  was  addressing  a  letter  to 
"  Richard  Chetwynd,"  Arthur  Maynard  entered. 

The  boy  looked  quite  pale  and  anxious,  as  he 
glanced  at  Mrs.  Lanier's  flushed,  excited  face. 

"Don't  ask  me  any  questions;  just  wait  a  mo- 
ment," she  said,  with  a  reassuring  smile. 

Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  children's  voices  on 
the  stairs,  and  three  little  girls  entered  the  room 
quietly  and  demurely.  They  were  dressed  exactly 
alike  in  dainty  white  frocks  and  broad  sashes;  two 


LADY  JANE  291 

were  pale  and  dark;  they  were  Ethel  and  May 
Lanier;  and  one  was  fair  and  rosy,  with  wonderful 
golden  hair  hanging  in  burnished,  waving  masses  be- 
low her  waist,  while  the  thick  fringe  across  her  fore- 
head, although  it  looked  a  little  refractory,  as  though 
it  had  just  been  cut,  gave  her  a  charmingly  infantile 
and  picturesque  appearance. 

The  moment  the  little  Laniers  saw  Arthur  May- 
nard  they  ran  to  him  talking,  and  laughing  gaily, 
while  Lady  Jane, —  for  it  was  she,  quite  meta- 
morphosed through  the  skill  of  Mrs.  Lanier's  French 
maid,  and  one  of  Ethel's  dainty  suits, —  remained 
standing  shyly  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Lanier  was  watching  her  sweet  little  face 
with  its  puzzled,  anxious  expression.  She  held  her 
hands  tightly  clasped,  and  her  soft  brows  were 
slightly  contracted,  while  she  looked  at  the  merry 
group  with  large,  serious  eyes.  Presently  a  win- 
some smile  broke  over  her  face,  and  going  slowly 
forward  she  said  softly:  "If  you  please,  aren't 
you  the  boy  who  gave  me  the  blue  heron?  " 

Arthur  Maynard  was  quite  beside  himself  with 
delight.  Holding  out  both  hands,  he  drew  her  to 
him,  and  putting  his  arm  about  her  caressingly  he 


292  LADY  JANE 

said  gaily :  "  Yes,  Lady  Jane,  I  'm  the  very  boy. 
And  so  you  remember  me  ?  I  thought  you  'd  for- 
gotten me  long  ago." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  I  had  n't ;  but,"  with  a  little,  tremu- 
lous smile,  '  you  —  you  did  n't  know  me,  did 
you?" 

"  Yes,  you  darling,  I  did ;  I  was  only  waiting  to 
see  if  you  really  remembered  me." 

"  Oh,  but  you  did  n't  know  I  saw  you  once  be- 
fore." 

"  No,  indeed.  When  and  where  was  it  ?  "  asked 
Arthur  eagerly. 

"  It  was  a  long  while  ago.  It  was  Mardi-gras, 
and  I  was  lost ;  but  you  could  n't  see  me,  because  I 
had  on  a  domino,"  replied  Lady  Jane,  with  dancing 
eyes  and  roguish  little  smile.  "  I  called  you,  and 
you  heard  me,  because  you  looked  around;  but  you 
could  n't  see  me." 

"Well,  I  declare!  Now  I  remember!  Of 
course,  I  could  n't  guess  that  the  little  pink  crumpled 
thing  was  Lady  Jane.  Why  did  n't  you  call  me 
again?" 

"  Oh,"  with  a  little  sigh.  "  I  thought  maybe  you 
did  n't  remember  me." 

"As  if  I  could  ever  forget;  but  where  is  Tony? 


LADY  JANE  293 

have  you  given  him  away  ? "  and  he  looked  into  her 
eyes  with  a  smile. 

"  No,  I  did  n't  give  him  away.  I  love  him  too 
much  to  give  him  to  any  one ;  but  he  's  lost.  He 
broke  his  string,  while  I  was  out  singing,  and  Xante 
Pauline  was  too  lame  to  catch  him,  and  I  searched 
and  looked  everywhere  for  him,  and  then  I  could  n't 
sing  any  more  —  and  — "  and  here  she  paused,  flush- 
ing deeply  while  the  tears  gathered  on  her  lashes. 

"  She  's  just  the  same  adorable  little  creature," 
whispered  Arthur  to  Mrs.  Lanier,  while  he  stroked 
her  hair  softly.  Then  he  bent  over  her  and  asked 
her  very  earnestly  and  gravely : 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  on  the  cars,  Lady 
Jane,  when  I  gave  you  Tony?  " 

•"  Why,  yes, —  or  I  would  n't  know  you,"  she  re- 
plied ingenuously. 

"  Well,  your  mama  was  with  you  then.  Where  is 
she  now?  " 

"  Oh,"  with  a  very  sad  sigh,  "  I  don't  know ;  she  's 
gone  away.  I  thought  she  'd  come  back,  and  I 
waited  and  waited;  but  now  I  don't  look  any  more. 
I  think  she  's  with  papa,  and  is  n't  coming  back." 

"  When  did  she  go  ?  My  darling,  try  to  remem- 
ber about  your  mama,"  urged  Mrs.  Lanier  gently. 


294  LADY  JANE 

"  It  was  so  long  ago,  I  can't  tell  when  it  was,"  she 
said  dejectedly.  "  I  was  ill,  and  when  I  got  well 
Tante  Pauline  said  she  had  gone." 

"  Was  it  in  Good  Children  Street  that  she  went?  " 

"  No.  It  was  before.  It  was  away  across  the 
river,  because  Tante  Pauline,  and  Mr.  Raste,  and  I, 
and  Tony  in  his  basket,  all  came  in  a  big  boat." 

"  You  see  Jane  Chetwynd  never  left  Gretna,"  said 
Mrs.  Lanier  in  an  awe-struck  voice. 

"Where  is  Tante  Pauline  now?"  continued  Ar- 
thur. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  ran  away,  and  I  have  n't  seen 
her  for  ever  so  long." 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  from  her?  Did  n't  you 
love  her?" 

"  No,  no !  Please  don't  ask  me, —  please  don't," 
and  suddenly  she  covered  her  little  flushed,  troubled 
face  with  both  hands  and  began  to  cry  silently. 

"  We  must  n't  question  her  any  more,  Arthur," 
said  Mrs.  Lanier  softly,  as  she  soothed  the  child. 
"  Her  little  heart  has  been  probed  to  the  very  depths. 
She  is  a  noble  little  soul,  and  she  won't  utter  a  com- 
plaint against  that  wretched  woman." 

"  Never  mind,  my  darling ;  forget  all  about  Tante 
Pauline.  You  will  never  see  her  again,  and  no  one 


LADY  JANE  295 

shall  make  you  unhappy.  You  are  my  child  now, 
and  you  shall  stay  with  me  always,  and  to-morrow 
we  are  going  to  buy  Christmas  presents  for  all  your 
friends  in  Good  Children  Street." 

"  And  I  " —  whispered  Arthur,  pressing  his  cheek 
close  against  her  golden  head  — "  I  have  a  Christmas 
present  for  you ;  so  wipe  away  your  tears,  and  pre- 
pare to  be  very  happy." 

"  I  have  just  written  to  her  grandfather,"  said 
Mrs.  Lanier,  after  they  had  sent  her  away  to  the 
children,  all  smiles  and  dimples  again.  "  I  see  by 
the  papers  that  he  has  returned  from  Europe. 
There  's  not  the  least  doubt  that  she  is  Jane's  child, 
and,  if  he  has  any  heart,  he  '11  come  and  investigate 
this  mystery.  I  don't  dare  to  do  anything  until  I 
hear  from  him." 

"  That  will  be  very  soon ;  he  will  probably  be  here 
in  a  day  or  two,  for  he  is  on  his  way  now." 

"Arthur,  what  do  you  mean?  How  has  he 
heard?" 

"  Oh,  Lady  Jane  has  a  great  many  friends  who  are 
deeply  interested  in  her.  Paichoux,  the  dairyman, 
has  been  in  correspondence  with  the  millionaire,  and 
I  have  been  interviewing  Paichoux.  The  little 
Frenchman  put  me  on  Paichoux's  track.  It  seems 


296  LADY  JANE 

that  Paichoux  got  Mrs.  Churchill's  watch  from  Mad- 
ame Jozain's  son,  and  Paichoux  was  inspired  to  write 
to  the  jeweler  in  New  York,  whose  name  and  the 
number"  o-f  the  watch  were  on  the  inside  of  the  case, 
to  find  out  for  whom  that  especial  watch  was  made. 
After  some  delay  a  letter  came  from  Mr.  Richard 
Chetwynd  himself,  telling  Paichoux  that  the  watch 
was  made  for  his  daughter  Jane  Chetwynd.  The 
jeweler  had  forwarded  Paichoux's  letter  to  Mr. 
Chetwynd,  whcrwas  in  Paris,  and  the  millionaire  has 
hastened  home  to  investigate,  which  is  a  favorable 
omen'  for  Lady  Jane." 

The  next  day,  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  just 
one  year  from  the  time  when  Lady  Jane  sat  on  the 
church  steps  eating  the  bread  and  apple  supplied  her 
by  a  charitable  impulse,  she  was  making  almost  a 
royal  progress  in  Mrs.  Lanier's  carriage,  as  lovely 
in  her  rich  dress  as  a  little  fairy,  and  every  bit  as 
much  admired  as  Pepsie  had  predicted  she  would  be 
when,  in  the  future,  she  should  ride  in  a  blue  chariot 
drawn  by  eight  white  horses.  Mrs.  Lanier's  gen- 
erosity allowed  her  to  remember  every  one  with  suit- 
able gifts,  and  her  visit  to  Good  Children  Street  was 
something  to  be  long  remembered.  Mrs.  Lanier  al- 
most blushed  with  shame  and  regret  when  she  found 


LADY  JANE  297 

herself  once  more  in  the  presence  of  Diana  d'Hau- 
treve,  to  think  that  for  all  these  years  she  had  forgot- 
ten one  who  was  once  a  queen  in  society  both  by  right 
of  birth  and  wealth.  "  It  is  unpardonable  in  me," 
she  said  to  herself  when  she  saw  the  gentle,  lonely 
woman  hold  the  child  to  her  heart  so  fondly.  "  It  is 
unpardonable  to  forget  and  neglect  one  so  entirely 
worthy  of  the  best,  simply  because  she  is  poor. 
However,  now  that  I  have  discovered  her  through 
Lady  Jane,  I  will  try  to  make  up  for  the  indifference 
of  years,  by  every  attention  that  I  can  show  her." 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  Mrs. 
Lanier's  mind,  Lady  Jane  was  unfolding  before 
Mam'selle  Diane's  dazzled  eyes  a  rich  mourning  silk. 
"  You  must  have  it  made  right  away,"  she  whis- 
pered, pressing  her  rosy  cheek  to  her  friend's,  "  for 
Mrs.  Lanier  says  you  will  visit  your  friends  again, 
and  I  want  you  to  wear  my  Christmas  present  the 
first  time  you  go  out." 

Then  Pepsie  was  made  happy  with  a  beautiful 
wheeled  chair  for  the  street,  which  was  so  arranged 
with  numerous  springs  that  she  could  be  lifted  over 
rough  places  without  hurting  her  poor  back,  and 
Madelon  was  the  recipient  of  a  beautiful  warm  cloak, 
and  Tite's  love  of  finery  was  fully  gratified  by  a  gay 


298  LADY  JANE 

hat  "  wid  fedders  on  it."  Little  Gex  was  fitted  out 
with  a  supply  of  useful  articles,  and  the  Paichoux, 
one  and  all,  were  remembered  with  gifts  suitable  for 
each;  while  the  orphans'  Christmas  tree  was  loaded 
with  presents  from  Lady  Jane,  who  only  the  year  be- 
fore had  clung  to  the  railings,  cold  and  hungry,  and 
peeped  in  at  the  glittering  display  which  was  being 
prepared  for  other  little  orphans  not  half  as  friend- 
less and  needy  as  she  was. 

And  the  homely,  kind  face  of  Margaret  fairly 
shone  with  happiness,  as  she  watched  her  little  fa- 
vorite dispensing  her  pretty  gifts. 

And  there  was  one  hour  of  that  happy  Christmas 
eve  that  Lady  Jane  never  forgot.  It  was  when  Mar- 
garet took  her  into  the  chapel  and  bade  her  kneel 
before  the  statue  of  our  Saviour,  who  was  once  a  lit- 
tle child,  and  thank  him  devoutly  for  all  the  good 
things  that  had  come  to  her.  Then,  when  she  rose 
from  her  knees,  the  sister  who  had  taught  her  music 
played  a  sweet  Ave  Maria  on  the  organ,  and  the 
child's  angelic  voice  rose  upward  in  a  rapturous  song 
of  praise  and  adoration;  while  Margaret  knelt,  with 
bowed  head  and  clasped  hands,  patient,  humble,  re- 
signed, but  yet  sorrowful  at  losing  the  lamb  she  had 
taken  to  her  heart  and  cherished  so  tenderly. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A   MERRY   CHRISTMAS 

IT  was  Christmas  evening,  and  Mrs.  Lanier's 
beautiful  house  was  bright  with  lights  and  flow- 
ers, and  merry  with  music  and  laughter. 

There  were,  besides  the  little  Laniers  and  Lady 
Jane,  a  dozen  children  or  more,  who  had  been  invited 
to  see  the  wonderful  Christmas-tree,  which  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lanier  and  Arthur  Maynard  had  spent  a  good 
part  of  the  day  in  decorating.  It  stood  at  one  end 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  its  broad  branches  were 
fairly  bending  beneath  the  treasures  heaped  upon 
them.  It  glowed  and  sparkled  with  the  light  of  a 
hundred  wax  candles,  reflected  over  and  over  by  in- 
numerable brilliant  objects  until  it  seemed  like 
Moses's  burning  bush,  all  fire  and  flame;  and  amid 
this  radiant  mass  of  color  and  light  were  the  most 
beautiful  gifts  for  every  member  of  the  family,  as 
well  as  for  the  happy  little  visitors.  But  the  object 
which  attracted  the  most  curiosity  and  interest  was  a 
large  basket  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tree. 

"  Whom  is  that  basket  for,  papa  ?  "  asked  Ethel 
299 


3oo  LADY  JANE 

Lanier  of  her  father,  who  was  unfastening  and  dis- 
tributing the  presents. 

"  We  shall  see  presently,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr. 
Lanier,  glancing  at  Lady  Jane,  who  stood,  a  radiant 
little  figure,  beside  Arthur  Maynard,  watching  every 
movement  with  sparkling  eyes  and  dimpling  smiles. 

At  last,  with  a  great  deal  of  difficulty,  the  basket 
was  untied,  and  Mr.  Lanier  read  in  a  loud,  distinct 
voice  from  a  card  attached  to  it,  "  For  Lady  Jane 
Churchill.  With  Arthur  Maynard's  love  and  good 
wishes." 

"  There,  I  thought  it  was  for  Lady  Jane,"  cried 
Ethel  delightedly.  "  I  know  it 's  something  lovely." 

Mr.  Lanier,  with  no  little  ceremony,  handed  the 
basket  to  Arthur,  who  took  it  and  gave  it  to  Lady 
Jane  with  a  low  bow. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  my  present,"  he  said,  smil- 
ing brightly,  while  he  helped  the  wondering  child 
untie  the  strings  that  fastened  the  cover. 

Her  little  face  was  a  study  of  mingled  curiosity 
and  expectancy,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  eager- 
ness as  she  bent  over  the  basket 

"  It 's  so  large.  What  can  it  be  ?  Oh,  oh !  It 's 
Tony! "  she  cried,  as  the  cover  was  lifted,  and  the 


wWwt- 1  HI 


LADY  JANE  301 

bird  hopped  gravely  out  and  stood  on  one  leg,  wink- 
ing and  blinking  in  the  dazzling  light.  "  It 's  Tony ! 
dear,  dear  Tony!  "  and  in  an  instant  she  was  on  her 
knees  hugging  and  kissing  the  bird  passionately. 

"  I  told  you  I  would  find  him  for  you,"  whispered 
Arthur,  bending  over  her,  almost  as  happy  as 
she. 

"  And  you  knew  him  by  the  three  little  crosses, 
did  n't  you  ?  Oh,  you  're  so  good,  and  I  thank  you 
so  much,"  she  said,  lifting  her  lovely,  grateful  eyes 
to  the  boy's  face.  She  was  smiling,  but  a  tear 
glistened  on  her  lashes. 

"  What  a  darling  she  is ! "  said  Mrs.  Lanier 
fondly.  "  Is  n't  it  pretty  to  see  her  with  the  bird  ? 
Really  it  is  an  exquisite  picture." 

She  was  like  an  anxious  mother  over  a  child  that 
had  just  been  restored  to  her.  "  You  know  me, 
Tony,  don't  you  ?  and  you  're  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  she 
asked,  over  and  over,  while  she  stroked  his  feathers 
and  caressed  him  in  the  tenderest  way. 

"  Do  you  think  he  remembers  you,  Lady  Jane?  " 
asked  Mr.  Lanier,  who  was  watching  her  with  a 
smile  of  amusement. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  he  does ;  Tony  could  n't  forget 


302  LADY  JANE 

me.     I  'm  sure  he  '11  come  to  me  if  I  call  him." 

"  Please  try  him.  Oh,  do  try  him !  "  cried  Ethel 
and  May. 

Mr.  Lanier  took  the  bird  and  placed  him  behind 
a  chair  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  room,  where  he 
stood  gravely  blinking  and  nodding,  but  the  mo- 
ment he  heard  Lady  Jane's  little  chirp,  and  "  Tony, 
Tony,"  he  ran  fluttering  to  her  and  nestled  close 
against  her. 

Every  one  was  pleased  with  this  exhibition  of  the 
bird's  intelligence,  and  the  children  were  quite  wild 
over  the  new  acquisition.  The  other  presents  were 
forgotten  for  the  moment,  and  they  could  do  noth- 
ing but  watch  every  movement  with  admiration  and 
wonder. 

To  Lady  Jane  the  recovery  of  her  lost  treasure 
was  the  crowning  point  of  happiness,  and  she  con- 
sented reluctantly  to  leave  him  alone  in  the  conserva- 
tory, where  he  was  to  spend  the  night,  and  where  he 
looked  very  comfortable,  as  well  as  picturesque, 
standing  on  one  leg  under  a  large  palm. 

"  Does  n't  she  dance  like  a  little  fairy !  "  said  Ar- 
thur admiringly  to  Mrs.  Lanier,  as  they  stood,  a  lit- 
tle later,  watching  the  children  dancing. 

'  Yes,  she  is  very  graceful  and  altogether  charm- 


LADY  JANE  303 

ing,"  replied  Mrs.  Lanier.  "  It  is  delightful  to  see 
her  so  happy  after  all  she  has  suffered." 

"  I  don't  imagine  she  will  care  half  as  much  for 
her  rich  grandfather  as  she  does  for  Tony,"  returned 
Arthur,  "  You  see  she  's  acquainted  with  Tony, 
and  she  is  n't  acquainted  with  her  grandfather.  I 
hope  he  '11  be  decent  to  her,"  he  added  anxiously. 

"  It  is  almost  time  for  him  to  be  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Lanier,  glancing  at  the  clock.  "  Mr.  Lanier  will 
meet  him  at  the  station  and  bring  him  here,  if  he  will 
accept  our  hospitality.  I  '11  confess  I  'm  filled  with 
consternation.  He  used  to  be  such  a  stern,  cold 
man;  he  never  even  softened  to  Jane's  young 
friends;  he  was  polite  and  kind,  but  never  genial, 
and  I  dare  say  he  has  quite  forgotten  me.  It 's  a 
trial  for  me  to  meet  him  with  this  awful  mystery 
hanging  over  Jane's  last  days.  Oh,  I  hope  he  will 
take  kindly  to  the  child !  He  idolized  her  mother  be- 
fore she  thwarted  his  plans,  and  now  I  should  think 
his  remorse  would  be  terrible,  and  that  he  would  do 
everything  to  atone  for  his  unkindness." 

"  I  have  faith  in  Lady  Jane,"  laughed  Arthur. 
"  It  must  be  a  hard  heart,  to  withstand  her  winning 
ways.  I  '11.  wager  before  a  week  that  the  old  mil- 
lionaire will  be  her  devoted  slave." 


304  LADY  JANE 

Just  at  that  moment  a  servant  entered,  and 
handed  Mrs.  Lanier  a  card.  "  It  is  Mr.  Chetwynd," 
she  said  to  Arthur.  "  They  have  come ;  he  is  in  the 
library,  and  Mr.  Lanier  asks  me  to  bring  the  child." 

A  few  moments  later,  Mrs.  Lanier  led  Lady  Jane 
into  the  room  where  Richard  Chetwynd  waited  to 
receive  her.  He  was  a  tall,  pale  man,  with  deep, 
piercing  eyes,  and  firmly  closed  lips,  which  gave 
character  to  a  face  that  did  not  lack  kindliness  of  ex- 
pression. As  she  advanced  a  little  constrainedly, 
holding  the  child  by  the  hand,  he  came  forward  to 
meet  her  with  an  air  of  friendly  interest. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  me,  Mrs.  Lanier," 
he  said,  cordially  extending  his  hand,  "  but  I  remem- 
ber you,  although  it  is  some  time  ago  that  you  used 
to  dine  with  my  daughter  in  Gramercy  Park." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  Mr.  Chet- 
wynd ;  but  I  hardly  expected  you  to  recall  me  among 
all  Jane's  young  friends." 

"  I  do.  I  do  perfectly,"  he  replied,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Lady  Jane,  who  clung  to  Mrs.  Lanier  and 
looked  at  the  tall,  grave  stranger  with  timid  scrutiny.' 

Then  he  held  out  his  hand  to  the  child.  "  And 
this  is  Jane  Chetwynd's  daughter.  There  is  no 
doubt  of  it.  She  is  the  image  of  her  mother,"  he 


LADY  JANE  305 

said  in  a  low,  restrained  voice.  *'  I  was  not  prepared 
to  see  such  a  living  proof.  She  is  my  little  Jane  as 
she  was  when  a  child  —  my  little  Jane  —  my  dar- 
ling !  Mrs.  Lanier,  will  you  excuse  me !  —  the  sight 
of  her  has  quite  unnerved  me  " ;  and  suddenly  sink- 
ing into  a  chair  he  pressed  the  child  to  his  heart  and 
hid  his  face  on  her  bright  golden  head. 

What  passed  between  Lady  Jane  and  her  grand- 
father, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lanier  never  knew,  for  they 
slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room,  and  left  the  cold, 
stern  man  alone  with  the  last  of  his  family  —  the 
child  of  that  idolized  but  disobedient  daughter,  who 
had  caused  him  untold  sorrow,  and  whom  he  had 
never  forgiven  until  that  moment,  when  he  held  in 
his  arms,  close  to  his  heart,  the  child,  her  living 
image. 

It  was  some  time  before  Mr.  Chetwynd  appeared, 
and  when  he  did  he  was  as  cold  and  self-possessed 
as  if  he  had  never  felt  a  throb  of  emotion,  or  shed 
a  tear  of  sorrow  on  the  pretty  head  of  the  child,  who 
held  his  hand,  and  prattled  as  freely  and  confidingly 
as  though  she  had  known  him  always. 

"  What  will  Mother  Margaret  say,"  she  ex- 
claimed, looking  at  Mrs.  Lanier  with  wide,  glistening 
eyes,  "  when  I  tell  her  that  I  've  found  Tony  and 


306  LADY  JANE 

my  grandpapa  both  in  one  Christmas  ?  I  never  saw 
a  grandpapa  before.  Pepsie  read  to  me  about  one  in 
a  book,  and  he  was  very  cross ;  but  this  one  is  n't.  I 
think  he  's  very  good,  because  he  says  that  he  will 
give  me  everything  I  wish,  and  I  know  I  shall  love 
him  a  great  deal." 

"  Now,  Lady  Jane,  confess  to  me,  and  I  '11  never 
tell,"  whispered  Arthur  with  an  air  of  great  secrecy. 
"  Which  do  you  love  best,  Tony  or  your  new  grand- 
papa? " 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  the  roguish  face  of 
the  boy  with  a  little  perplexed  smile,  and  then  replied 
unhesitatingly :  "  Well,  I  've  known  Tony  longer, 
but  I  think  I  '11  love  my  grandpapa  as  well  by  and  by, 
because,  you  know,  he  's  my  grandpapa." 

Arthur  laughed  heartily  at  the  clever  way  in  which 
she  evaded  the  question,  and  remarked  to  Mrs.  La- 
nier  that  Lady  Jane  would  wind  her  grandfather 
around  her  little  finger  before  a  month  was  over. 
Which  prediction  was  likely  to  prove  true,  for  Mr. 
Chetwynd  did  not  seem  to  have  any  other  interest  in 
life  than  to  gratify  every  wish  the  child  expressed. 

"  She  has  taken  complete  possession  of  me,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Lanier,  "  and  now  my  greatest  happi- 
ness will  be  to  make  her  happy.  She  is  all  I  have, 


LADY  JANE  307 

and  I  shall  try  to  find  in  her  the  comfort  her  mother 
deprived  me  of." 

In  spite  of  his  affection  for  the  child,  his  feelings 
did  not  soften  toward  the  mother;  he  could  not  for- 
get that  she  had  disappointed  him  and  preferred  a 
stranger  to  him;  that  she  had  given  up  wealth  and 
position  to  bury  herself  in  obscurity  with  a  man  he 
hated.  It  was  a  bitter  thought,  yet  he  would  spare 
no  pains  to  |  solve  the  mystery  that  hung  over  her 
last  days. 

Money  and  influence  together  soon  put  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  law  in  motion ;  therefore  it  was  not  a 
month  after  Mr.  Chetwynd's  arrival  in  New  Orleans 
before  everything  was  as  clear  as  day.  The  young 
widow  was  traced  to  Madame  Jozain's;  there  were 
many  who  remembered  her  death  and  funeral.  The 
physician's  certificate  at  the  Board  of  Health  bore  the 
name  of  Dr.  Debrot,  who  was  found,  and  inter- 
viewed during  one  of  his  lucid  moments;  he  de- 
scribed the  young  mother  and  child,  and  even  re- 
membered the  blue  heron;  and  his  testimony,  sad 
though  it  was,  was  still  a  comfort  to  Jane  Chet- 
wynd's  friends.  She  had  died  of  the  same  fever 
that  killed  her  husband,  and  she  had  been  carefully 
nursed  and  decently  buried.  Afterward,  the  Ber- 


3o8  LADY  JANE 

geron  tomb  was  opened,  the  remains  identified,  and 
then  sent  to  New  York  to  rest  with  her  mother,  in 
the  stately  Chetwynd  tomb,  in  Greenwood  cemetery. 

Then  a  careful  search  was  made  for  her  personal 
effects,  but  nothing  was  recovered  except  the  watch 
that  Paichoux  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure.  Mr. 
Chetwynd  handed  Paichoux  a  large  check  in  ex- 
change for  it,  but  the  honest  man  refused  to  take  any 
more  than  he  had  paid  Raste  Jozain  in  order  to  get 
possession  of  it.  However,  the  millionaire  proved 
that  he  was  not  ungrateful  nor  lacking  in  apprecia- 
tion, when  he  presented  him  with  a  rich,  plain  watch 
suitably  inscribed,  from  the  donor  to  a  most  worthy 
friend.  And  when  the  pretty  Marie  was  married, 
she  received  from  the  same  jeweler  who  made  the 
watch  an  exquisite  silver  tea-service,  which  was  the 
pride  of  her  life,  and  which  was  cherished  not  only 
for  its  value,  but  because  it  was  a  gift  from  Lady 
Jane's  grandpapa. 

Mr.  Chetwynd  made  a  number  of  visits  to  Good 
Children  Street  in  company  with  Mrs.  Lanier  and 
Lady  Jane,  and  there  were  a  great  many  long  con- 
versations between  Mam'selle  Diane,  the  millionaire, 
and  the  banker's  wife,  while  Lady  Jane  played  with 
her  jolly  little  friend,  the  canary,  among  the  branches 


LADY  JANE.  309 

of  the  rose-bush.  During  these  conversations  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  argument  and  anxious  urging  on 
the  part  of  the  visitors,  and  a  great  many  excuses 
and  much  self -depreciation  on  the  part  of  the  gentle, 
faded  lady. 

"  I  have  been  buried  so  long,"  she  would  say  pa- 
thetically, "  that  the  great  world  will  appal  and  con- 
fuse me.  I  shall  be  like  a  blind  person  suddenly 
made  sensible  of  the  light." 

"  But  you  will  soon  become  accustomed  to  the 
light,"  urged  Mrs.  Lanier. 

"  And  I  might  long  for  seclusion  again ;  at  my  age 
one  cannot  easily  change  one's  habits." 

"  You  shall  have  all  the  seclusion  you  wish  for," 
said  Mr.  Chetwynd  kindly. 

"  Besides  I  am  so  old-fashioned,"  murmured 
Mam'selle  Diane,  blushing  deeply. 

"  A  quality  which  I  greatly  admire,"  returned  Mr. 
Chetwynd,  with  a  courtly  bow. 

"  And  think  how  Lady  Jane  loves  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Lanier,  as  if  to  clinch  the  argument. 

"  Yes ;  my  love  for  her  and  hers  for  me  are  the 
strongest  points  in  the  situation,"  replied  Mam'selle 
Diane  reflectively ;  "  when  I  think  of  that  I  can 
hardly  refuse  to  comply  with  your  wishes." 


3io  LADY  JANE 

At  that  time  it  seem  as  if  Lady  Jane  acted  the  part 
of  fairy  godmother  to  those  who  had  been  her 
friends  in  her  days  of  adversity;  for  each  one  had 
only  to  express  a  wish  and  it  was  gratified. 

Pepsie's  cottage  in  the  country  was  about  to  be- 
come a  reality.  In  one  of  the  charming  shady  lanes 
of  Carrollton  they  found  just  such  a  bowery  little 
spot  as  the  girl  wished  for,  with  a  fine  strip  of  land 
for  a  garden.  One  day  Mr.  Chetwynd  and  Lady 
Jane  went  down  to  Good  Children  Street  and  gave 
the  deed  of  it  to  Mademoiselle  Madelon  Modeste 
Ferri,  which  was  Pepsie's  baptismal  name,  although 
she  had  never  been  called  by  it  in  all  her  life.  The 
little  cripple  was  so  astonished  and  delighted  that  she 
could  find  no  words  of  thanks;  but  after  a  few 
moments  of  very  expressive  silence  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  After  all,  my  cards  were  right,  for 
they  told  me  over  and  over  that  I  should  go  to  live 
in  the  country ;  and  now  I  'm  going,  thanks  to 
Lady  Jane." 

When  little  Gex  was  asked  what  he  most  wished 
for  in  the  world,  he  hesitated  for  a  long  time,  and 
finally  confessed  that  the  desire  of  his  life  was  to  go 
back  to  Paris. 


LADY  JANE  311 

"  Well,  you  shall  go,  Mr.  Gex,"  said  Lady  Jane 
confidently,  "  and  I  shall  see  you  there,  because  I  'm 
going  to  Paris  with  grandpapa  very  soon." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Gex  went,  and  the  little 
shop  in  Good  Children  Street  saw  him  no  more  for- 
ever. 

And  Margaret  —  the  good  Margaret.  What 
could  Lady  Jane  do  for  her  ?  Only  the  noble  woman 
and  the  destitute  orphans  could  testify  to  the  gener- 
ous aid  that  came  yearly  in  the  shape  of  a  check  for  a 
large  amount  from  Lady  Jane  for  dear  Mother  Mar- 
garet's home. 

"  And  Mam'selle  Diane, —  dear  Mam'selle !  what 
can  I  give  her?  "  asked  Lady  Jane  eagerly. 

"  We  have  our  plans  for  Mam'selle  Diane,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Lanier.  "  There  is  only  one  thing 
to  do  for  her,  and  that  is  to  take  her  with  you. 
Your  grandpapa  has  begged  her  to  take  charge  of 
your  education.  Poor,  lonely  woman ;  she  loves  you 
dearly,  and  in  spite  of  her  reluctance  to  leave  her  se- 
clusion, I  think  she  would  go  to  the  world's  end  with 
you." 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  when  Mr.  Chetwynd 
and  Lady  Jane  left  New  Orleans,  Mam'selle  Diane 


3 12  LADY  JANE 

d'Hautreve  went  with  them,  and  the  little  house  and 
tiny  garden  were  left  to  solitude,  while  the  jolly  can- 
ary was  sent  to  keep  Tony  company  in  Mrs.  Lanier's 
conservatory. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AS  IT   IS   NOW 

ALL  this  happened  years  ago,  some  ten  or 
twelve,  more  or  less,  and  there  have  been 
many  changes  in  that  time. 

In  front  of  the  iron  railing  where  Lady  Jane  clung 
on  that  cold  Christmas  eve,  peering  into  the  warmth 
and  light  of  the  Orphans'  Home,  there  is  now  a 
beautiful  little  park,  with  magnolias,  oaks,  fragrant 
white  jasmine,  and  pink  flowering  crape-myrtle. 
The  grass  is  green,  and  the  trees  make  shadows  on 
the  pretty  little  pond,  the  tiled  bridge  and  shelled 
walks,  the  cactus  and  palmetto.  Flowers  bloom 
there  luxuriantly,  the  birds  sing  merrily,  and  it  is  a 
spot  beloved  of  children.  Always  their  joyous  laugh 
can  be  heard  mingled  with  the  songs  of  birds  and 
the  distant  hum  of  many  little  voices  in  the  Orphans' 
Home  a  few  paces  away. 

In  the  center  of  that  square  on  a  green  mound, 
bordered  with  flowers,  stands  a  marble  pedestal,  and 
on  that  pedestal  is  a  statue.  It  is  the  figure  of  a 

313 


3i4  LADY  JANE 

woman,  seated  and  holding  a  little  orphan  to  her 
heart.  The  woman  has  a  plain,  homely  face,  the 
thin  hair  is  combed  back  austerely  from  the  broad 
forehead,  the  eyes  are  deep-set,  the  features  coarse, 
the  mouth  wide.  She  is  no  high-born  dame  of  deli- 
cate mold,  but  a  woman  of  the  people  —  untaught, 
honest,  simple,  industrious.  Her  plain  gown  falls 
around  her  in  scanty  lines;  over  her  shoulders  is 
modestly  folded  a  little  shawl ;  her  hands,  that  caress 
the  orphan  at  her  side,  are  large  and  rough  with  hon- 
est toil;  but  her  face,  and  her  whole  plain  figure,  is 
beautiful  with  purity  and  goodness.  It  is  Margaret, 
the  orphans'  friend,  who,  though  a  destitute  orphan 
herself,  by  her  own  virtue  and  industry  earned  the 
wealth  to  found  homes  and  asylums,  to  feed  and 
clothe  the  indigent,  to  save  the  wretched  and  for- 
saken, and  to  merit  the  title  of  Mother  to  the  Moth- 
erless. 

And  there  sits  her  marble  image,  through  sum- 
mer's heat  and  winter's  cold,  serene  and  gentle,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  home  she  founded,  and  in  sound 
of  the  little  voices  that  she  loved  so  well ;  and  there 
she  will  sit  when  those  voices  are  silent  and  those 
active  little  forms  are  dust,  as  a  monument  of  honest, 
simple  virtue  and  charity,  as  well  as  an, enduring 


LADY  JANE  315 

testimony  to  the  nobility  of  the  women  who  erected 
this  statue  in  respectful  recognition  of  true  greatness 
under  the  homely  guise  of  honest  toil. 

If  one  of  my  young  readers  should  happen  near 
this  spot  just  at  the  right  moment  on  some  fine  even- 
ing in  early  spring,  he  or  she  might  chance  to  notice 
an  elegant  carriage  drawn  by  two  fine  horses,  and 
driven  by  a  sleek  darky  in  plain  livery,  make  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  place  and  then  draw  up  near  the  statue  of 
Margaret,  while  its  occupants,  an  elderly  woman  of 
gentle  and  distinguished  appearance,  and  a  beautiful 
young  girl,  study  the  homely,  serene  face  of  the  or- 
phans' friend. 

Presently  the  girl  says  reverently,  "  Dear  Mother 
Margaret!  She  was  a  saint,  if  earth  ever  knew 
one." 

"  Yes ;  she  was  a  noble  woman,  and  she  came  from 
the  poor  and  lowly.  My  dear,  she  is  an  example  of 
a  great  truth,  which  may  be  worthy  of  consideration. 
It  is,  that  virtue  and  purity  do  not  disdain  to  dwell 
in  the  meanest  shrine,  and  that  all  the  titles  and 
wealth  of  earth  could  not  ennoble  her  as  her  own 
saintly  character  has  done." 

The  occupants  of  the  carriage  are  Lady  Jane  and 
Mam'sdle  Diane  d'Hautreve. 


316  LADY  JANE 

The  beautiful  child  is  now  a  beautiful  girl  of  sev- 
enteen. Her  education  is  finished,  and  she  has  not 
disappointed  the  expectations  of  her  friends.  At 
home  and  abroad  she  is  not  only  known  as  the  Chet- 
wynd  heiress,  but  also  for  her  many  accomplish- 
ments, as  well  as  for  her  beauty  and  charitableness. 
And  her  wonderful  voice,  which  time  has  enriched 
and  strengthened,  is  a  constant  delight  to  those  who 
hear  it,  although  it  is  never  heard  in  public,  save  in 
the  service  of  God,  or  for  some  work  of  charity. 
The  poor  and  the  lowly,  the  sick  and  the  dying  have 
often  been  carried  to  the  very  gates  of  heaven  on  its 
melodious  strains,  and  the  good  sisters  and  grateful 
little  orphans  in  Margaret's  Home  count  it  a  day 
long  to  be  remembered  when  Lady  Jane  sits  down 
among  them  and  sings  some  of  the  hymns  that  she 
loved  so  well  in  those  old  days  when  she  herself  was 
a  homeless  little  orphan. 

Mr.  Chetwynd  still  likes  to  spend  part  of  the  year 
in  Paris;  but  he  has  purchased  a  beautiful  winter 
home  in  one  of  the  lovely  streets  in  the  garden  dis- 
trict, not  far  from  Mrs.  Lanier,  and  Lady  Jane  and 
Mam'selle  Diane  spend  several  months  every  spring 
in  its  delightful  seclusion. 

And  here  Madelon  comes  to  bring  her  delicious 


LADY  JANE  317 

cakes,  which  she  now  sells  to  private  customers  in- 
stead of  having  a  stand  on  the  Rue  Bourbon;  and 
Tante  Modeste  often  rattles  up  in  her  milk  cart,  a 
little  older,  a  little  stouter,  but  with  the  same  bright 
face ;  and  on  the  same  seat  where  Lady  Jane  used  to 
sit  is  one  of  Marie's  little  ones,  instead  of  one  of  her 
own.  "  Only  think,  my  dear,"  she  says  proudly, 
"  Tiburce  has  graduated,  and  now  he  is  studying 
law  with  Marie's  husband,  who  is  rising  fast  in  his 
profession." 

But  among  all  her  happy  hours  there  are  none 
pleasanter  than  those  she  spends  with  Pepsie  in  the 
pretty  cottage  at  Carrollton,  when  the  bright- faced 
little  cripple,  who  seems  hardly  a  day  older,  spreads 
out  her  beautiful  needlework  and  expatiates  elo- 
quently on  the  fine  results  she  obtains  from  the  Paris 
patterns  and  exquisite  material  with  which  she  is 
constantly  supplied.  She  is  a  natural  little  artist 
with  the  needle,  her  dainty  work  sells  readily  and 
profitably,  and  she  is  in  a  fair  way  to  become  rich. 
"  Just  think,"  she  says  with  one  of  her  broad  smiles, 
"  I  could  buy  a  piano  now  myself,  if  I  wanted  to,  and 
perhaps  I  shall,  so  that  you  can  play  to  me  when  you 
come." 

During  sunny  mornings,  on  a  certain  lawn  in  the 


318  LADY  JANE 

garden  district,  there  is  nearly  always  a  merry  party 
playing  tennis,  while  a  gentle- faced  woman  sits  near 
holding  a  book,  which  she  seldom  reads,  so  interested 
is  she  in  watching  a  golden-haired  girl  and  a  hand- 
some young  man,  who  frequently  interrupt  the  game 
to  point  out  the  grave  antics  of  a  stately  blue  heron, 
that  stalks  majestically  about  the  lawn  or  poses  pic- 
turesquely on  one  leg  under  a  glossy  palm. 

But  we  must  not  approach  the  border-land  of  ro- 
mance. Lady  Jane  is  no  longer  a  child,  and  Arthur 
Maynard  is  years  older  than  the  boy  who  gave  her 
the  blue  heron. 


THE   END 


